Infection
by GigiLuVe
Summary: An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?
1. La Porte Rouge

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** Hello and welcome! I am excited to be inspired by one of my favorite/the more under-appreciated musicals: Jekyll and Hyde. Really, it is quite fantastic, as well as the actual novella _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ by Robert Louis Stevenson. I expect this fanfiction to be darker and more of a thriller than anything I have done yet.

I like to use names from The Phantom of the Opera, even though they aren't always representative of the character, just so you are all aware. I may also attempt to introduce some French into this story, so I will tell you from the beginning that I do not know French. It will all sadly be taken from Google Translate or some other source material. I will attempt to put the translations at the end of each chapter.

This chapter jumps right into the story. Please don't be put off by it. There will be more explanation to come, as well as a slower pace. This just seemed like a very interesting place to begin. I like reviews, as everyone does, but I also like to receive suggestions and ideas on the story's progression. I do not always know where the story is headed, so input is appreciated. P.S. Rated MA to be safe.

**Chapter 1 – La Porte Rouge***

Erik blinked. Then he blinked again. The latter was more for comprehension's sake, but he still didn't know where he was or how he had gotten there. He was outside in a dingy alleyway somewhere. The streets were cold and damp from the rainfall from earlier. Did he remember the storm? Yes, yes he found he did. But as his mind tried to trace the rest of the day, it became blurrier and blurrier.

He recalled pouring over some texts during the morning then resting his head in the early afternoon, and that was it. Exhaustion had come on quickly due to the weather that had persisted since sun up and his lack of nourishment. It had become too much of a habit—not eating all day and mercilessly pushing his body farther and farther in pursuit of an antidote. That seemed to be where his memory stopped. The rest was just darkness and confusion.

Looking upward, he saw the moon peeking shyly out from behind some equally rundown buildings. He couldn't remember seeing the sun set and darkness encompass the city. He must have been out for a good number of hours. That was, if he hadn't been out for days. It was getting harder and harder for him to keep track of time during his lapses.

As his condition grew steadily worse, he became more and more desperate. He would forget to eat at times and forget to sleep at others. It was this unhealthy routine that seemed to make him relapse more often. And that was precisely what he was attempting to fix. It was a vicious cycle that had no foreseeable end.

Erik glanced down at where he knelt, the dim glow from a streetlight at the mouth of the alley aiding the moon in light in which to see by. He was collapsed on the pavement on his knees in just some black slacks and a shirt that was too light to go unaccompanied in the current temperature. This was just a passing observation for him. What really caught his attention were the crimson stains traveling up both arms.

It was easy to identify the source. A motionless body lay face down in front of him with a widening pool of blood beneath it. Erik staggered to his feet, aghast. His hands flew to his mouth just a moment too late to keep a sound of disgust from echoing against the desolate buildings. Despite the shock, he was able to quickly conclude what had happened. If he had needed any more proof, a bloodied knife rested on the cobblestones next to the corpse and his hands were stained red with the man's blood.

His gaze shifted from the body to his hands, which shook as he held them out in front of him, palms up. He had to clean them. He had to remove the stain. As if on cue, he spied a puddle of water nearby. He fell down next to it and vigorously washed the blood from his hands. Then he splashed some water on his face in case any blood had gotten there, as well as a means to rouse his senses. Satisfied enough with the results, he turned his eyes back onto the motionless gentleman.

He swiftly scooped up the white porcelain mask that lay nearby, not wanting that to be consumed by the growing puddle of blood. He attached it to the right side of his face in one fluid motion then swallowed all of his nervous energy and stepped toward the corpse. He leaned over the body, using two fingers to turn the face toward what dim light he had at his disposal. Instantly he recognized Monsieur Lefèvre, a public figure known for his debauchery. He gasped, releasing Lefèvre, whose head rolled back down into the ground before coming to a standstill.

Erik had seen the young man just a day or two before, wandering around the lower income end of town where the brothels were located. That thought aided in putting his location into perspective. He believed that he could be nowhere else other than the backstreets of Paris. After all, where else would a man like Lefèvre go once the sun had successfully set?

"It came from down here," a burly voice interrupted.

Erik woke from his reverie. Two sets of footsteps were approaching ever nearer. Despite being off of the main road, he still wasn't completely hidden from view. The oil lamp on the street offered light in which to witness the crime by. It was pure luck that he hadn't been caught yet. He knew he had to act fast. He wasn't the murderer here, after all.

Having recovered from the initial shock, and thinking very quickly as the time called for, Erik first chose to remove the dead Lefèvre's outer coat. He knew the dark material would aid in hiding him from prying eyes and shelter him from the cold night air. He proceeded with much difficulty and awkwardness, but turned out successful in the end. He punched his arms through the sleeve holes to hide the blood stains on his white blouse. Then he fled the scene.

He stumbled through side streets in a haze of lingering confusion and dread, pulling on the black leather gloves that he had discovered in the pockets of the coat. It was the first time he had awoken to find a dead body in front of him, and it still shook him to his core. He was running out of time. That realization was about as startling as the corpse had been.

A whistle blew in the background. Monsieur Lefèvre had been discovered.

Erik glanced around. He knew that he needed to get off of the street. He found himself in front of a building with a red door and a single candle burning in the front window. It was indication enough for him. The door gave way easily and he ducked within.

Having backed into the establishment to ensure that the door shut noiselessly and securely, he remained staring at it, half expecting it to burst open and for police officers to swarm in and place shackles on his wrists. However, it didn't and they didn't. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Welcome, monsieur," a voice greeted, overly cheery and fairly intrusive.

Erik nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around. The place being occupied hadn't even been an option. He spied a birdlike woman standing just in front of him in anticipation. He noticed her cringe at the sight of the mask covering half of his face, a reaction he was all too familiar with. He found that it was still better than what the response would be should he choose to leave it off.

"Er," she attempted to recover, "were you looking for some company tonight?"

In all actuality, he hadn't been. At that point, he was really quite interested in just the opposite. But the only other option was to leave, and he certainly couldn't do that at the moment. So instead, he nodded briefly and uncomfortably. This caused a grin to erupt on the older woman's face. She stood aside, ushering him further in.

"Well then come in, please." She allowed him to step ahead of her then corralled him toward one of the moth-eaten armchairs in the center of the room. "May I take your coat, monsieur?"

"No," Erik said bluntly, startling her. "No, thank you." He hugged the pilfered outer coat tightly around his frame. He eased down onto the thin cushion, taking little notice in how uncomfortable it really was.

"Of course, monsieur," the woman agreed. "It has gotten quite chilly out there. It really seeps into ones bones."

The older woman motioned off toward one of the corridors, out of sight of her guest. Immediately, a young woman with wild chocolate curls carried in a tray of tea makings. She knelt next to the armchair, offering up the refreshment. Erik stared at the teacup and pot, as if not knowing what to do with them. Spotting his reluctance, the older woman immediately took charge of the situation, pouring him some of the steaming liquid.

"My name is Madame Giry and I am the mistress of this establishment: La Porte Rouge," she explained. "Please have a cup of tea to warm up by while we discuss your interest."

Erik took the offered cup and saucer and held it in his lap with little interest. He was still attempting to comprehend and come to terms with everything. This time was obviously taking longer than usual because now he had a dead body weighing on his mind and conscience. Therefore, his attention appeared to be lacking as the discussion continued.

Madame Giry lowered herself into a seat across from his, never taking her eyes off of him. She motioned again to the young woman, who hurriedly scurried back down the corridor she had come from. "So what were you looking for, monsieur?"

Erik's gaze shifted onto her, as if noticing she was still present. "What?"

"What is your preference, monsieur? After all, we do aim to please here," she drawled, not deterred.

He waved his hand dismissively, returning to his contemplative state. "It doesn't matter."

Madame Giry nodded, though fully aware that he was no longer paying her any attention. She slowly got to her feet again and followed the young woman's trail into the back corridor. The hallway was blocked off from the main room by a simple tapestry. It led toward the small kitchen area and the mistress's office. She met up with the other female in the said kitchen where she was scrubbing some dishes.

"Christine," she hissed hurriedly, motioning toward the girl to come to her. "Christine, come here."

The young woman with the unruly dark brown hair set aside a plate and stepped toward her mistress's side, not wanting to face the consequences should she arrive slower than preferred. "Yes, Madame Giry?"

Madame Giry put an arm around Christine's shoulders, drawing her near and slowly taking her back up the hallway. The gesture was supposed to be caring and nurturing, but it was swiftly seen for what it really was: a means to get what the mistress wanted.

"Christine, I need a great favor of you, my dear," Madame Giry cooed to her. "There is a gentleman out here-"

Christine halted, causing her mistress to stop as well. But they were already at the tapestry dividing the two areas. "You mean that man with the strange mask out there?" she clarified, none too forgivingly.

"Obviously," Madame Giry scoffed. "How many other men do you see in our parlor? He needs a girl for the night."

Christine shook her head. "I can't, Madame. You know that."

"I know what the Victome de Chagny said. He certainly paid enough to keep you out of the company of other callers. But there is nobody else available, and this gentleman is already looking disinterested," she pleaded.

Christine peered out through a small opening at the masked man quietly sitting in the parlor. "He scares me," she admitted. "He is very odd. It is uncomfortable."

"Don't let the mask put you off, my dear," Madame Giry tried to soothe. She had always been bad at it, even with her own daughter. "Look at the outer coat he is wearing. It is of obvious good quality. He has money and lots of it. Have him put it to good use, eh?"

"Raoul will find out," Christine insisted.

Madame Giry shook her head gently. "No, he won't," she assured with a wicked smile. "Now go. That's an order."

Christine swallowed, not agreeing or liking this decision. Still, with her little fists balled at her sides, she marched into the parlor and up to the gentleman. She offered a hand to him. "Come with me," she whispered softly, alluringly.

Erik's dark eyes immediately shifted onto her, entranced. Her eyes shone with defiance and insistence, which caught him off guard. In an instant, the only thought he held was regarding this creature before him. All he could do was obey. He slipped his gloved hand into hers, placing the cup and saucer in his other on a passing table, and allowed her to lead him up the squeaky wooden staircase.

Her quarters resided on the third floor—the top floor. Her bed chamber was much more decorated than Erik would have envisioned. There was a coat rack immediately next to the door, despite these pieces of clothing being taken upon entering the brothel. Across from the entrance was a chaise lounge followed by a wooden table with two corresponding chairs. A wardrobe had a door hanging by one hinge. The bed was certainly large enough for two, but it was little more than a mattress on a frame. His eyes involuntarily lingered on it.

Having lit some candles, Christine turned back around toward him. He appeared awkward and unsure. She caught his eyes focused solely on the bed, not seeing anything else. She noticed the concern and anticipation lingering there, and she thought that perhaps she had misjudged him.

"Please come in and make yourself comfortable," she interrupted, occupying herself with opening the balcony doors to shed some natural moonlight.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Right."

Erik stepped into the room, trying to be as non-intrusive as possible. He took a seat on the edge of the lounge, which appeared to be in better condition than some of the other pieces of furniture. He held the outer coat tightly about him, obviously uncomfortable. Even the silence was killing him.

"This place is a little more…cozy than I would have thought," he stated, making small talk. He hated small talk. His dark eyes glanced about at the furnishings before stopping upon her.

With the pale moonlight backing her, Christine appeared to have a glow around her. The way she held open the two ramshackle doors made her seem like a queen within this rundown palace. Or perhaps a prisoner seemed more appropriate. The sight caused Erik's heart to beat just a little faster. He wasn't used to female company.

Christine scoffed, moving away from the window. Her blue, pinstriped dress sashayed with her hips. "I've been rather lucky, I suppose," she admitted. She wouldn't tell him the real reason why her room was better furnished in comparison to the others. One of their first lessons had been to not discuss other business or men with customers.

She sat down softly on the seat next to him. She was trying to get herself used to him, so her eyes studied his face as much as possible. She had lost her timidity long ago. Besides, sometimes they liked her to be dominating. Carefully, for she didn't know how he would react, she stretched out a hand and placed it gently on his shoulder.

"This is the part where you tell me what you want, monsieur," she said innocently.

"What I want?" he breathed.

He looked her frame up and down. She was really a tiny thing, possibly due to her living conditions. But, it seemed that any weight would have suited her fine. She began to close the gap between them, her movements like an alley cat careful not to startle a cornered mouse. Erik inhaled sharply and jumped to his feet, out of reach of her. He attempted to play it off as if he needed to stretch his legs.

"I don't think you'd be able to supply what I really want, mademoiselle," he answered truthfully, somewhat sadly.

Erik stopped in front of the window, peeking out at the street below. Her room faced the front of the establishment, so he was able to make out several constables still snaking through the nearby alleyways in what he assumed was an attempt at nabbing the murderer. He quickly turned away, pretending to appear nonchalant and disinterested.

Christine didn't quite know how to respond. Usually the men that called knew exactly what they wanted. They were in and out, so to speak. They never lingered like the gentleman before her. They never possessed so much mystery. She was intrigued.

"Perhaps you underestimate me, monsieur," Christine retorted, standing up. "Most men come here for a quick distraction. If you're looking for something more, though…something of love…"

Erik scoffed. "Love? Where would someone like me ever be able to find such a gift?"

She came up silently behind him and touched his shoulder again. He turned to face her. "Lucky for you," she drawled, "this is a place where even someone like you can find love."

He stared into her eyes, truly believing her words. But there was no sincerity in her gaze. He swiftly moved beyond her. "I would much prefer to talk," he insisted instead.

Christine released a puff of air that ended in a sigh. She put her hands on her hips, rather frustrated. "And what would you like to talk about, monsieur? I am afraid that I do not have much experience just conversing with callers."

"How about singing instead then?"

"Excuse me?" she questioned, surprised.

Erik lowered himself back onto the divan. "You asked me what I wanted. Sing for me."

She swallowed, self-conscious. "I-"

"Please."

Christine prepared herself, feeling rather out of place. But, as Madame Giry had stated many times before, the customer was always right. The girls catered to them without question. That was the type of establishment La Porte Rouge was.

Erik had insisted upon the young woman singing as a means to keep her occupied, so that he might be able to contemplate the deed that had occurred earlier that evening and, accordingly, his plan of action henceforth. However, as Christine sang on, her voice became stronger and more vibrant. It had started off shaky and insecure, easily ignored, but not any longer.

He listened. He was carried with her song. Oddly enough, it nearly corresponded with what he felt. It spoke to him that way. She sang of being in the clutches of a menacing force, freedom, and ultimately a new life on the horizon. It was during this song that he saw the most sincerity from her that he had seen all night. It was compelling.

By the end of the song, his full attention was on her and there was the glint of a tear in his eye. Not knowing what else to do, since he continued to stare at her several minutes afterward, Christine curtsied as she knew the proper ladies to do. She stood awkwardly, awaiting his approval.

"I hope that was what you had intended, monsieur," she whispered, but it simply sounded intrusive.

Erik stood. "I must go," he informed bluntly.

Christine stared at him in confusion. "O-Of course."

She stepped quickly toward the bedroom door and held it open for him. Without looking back, Erik stepped hurriedly out and disappeared down the rickety staircase. She was left staring after him for a moment longer before closing the door for the night.

Christine was left in a bigger state of confusion than when she had first met the mysterious gentleman. Staring down at the street from the balcony above, she watched his figure mingle with the shadows and disappear into the darkness. She wondered if their encounter had actually taken place and if she would ever see him again.

* * *

><p>*La Porte Rouge = The Red Door<p> 


	2. A Friend

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** If only more people appreciated it…but what can you do? I don't have much to say about this chapter. It is rather self-explanatory. I wanted to have Christine and Erik meet up again to start forming a bond. But, I also wanted to show Raoul's relationship to Christine in this, as well. In this story, Meg is not the nicest person. In fact, she is a bit like Christine's rival. She is not going to be showcased so much, just as a note. The main focus will be around Christine, Erik, and Raoul (kinda).

**Chapter 2 – A Friend**

Christine stared at the small timepiece atop the round wooden table. She slouched in one of the matching chairs, resting her chin on her arm on the rough tabletop. The small clock was of simple make and design. It had been in her bed chamber ever since Raoul had gifted it to her some months back. She cherished it, as she did everything he gave to her.

Her gaze never faltered from the face of the clock. Her patience was wearing thin, but she couldn't do anything other than wait. He had said that he would arrive by noon, and it was already quarter after. She hated to think that she had become this type of woman. But all it came down to was that his presence offered her an escape she couldn't normally find.

She had been working at La Porte Rouge for eight years now. It was still easy to recall her father passing away and leaving her destitute. With no income to speak of to properly live, she instantly took to the streets. It wasn't much later that she ended up on the doorstep of La Porte Rouge.

Madame Giry had taken her in and put her to work on maintaining the cleanliness of the establishment along with her daughter Meg. They waited on the customers and ran errands, until they were of a proper age when she could really find them useful. It was hardly a life that Christine had ever desired, but it kept a roof over her head and food in her belly.

Six months ago two gentlemen had come into the brothel for a bachelor party. That was the fated night that Christine had met Raoul de Chagny. Meg had entertained his brother Philippe, while she had been granted the company of Raoul. They had actually hit it off quite well. Despite his wedding in the following days, he had promised to return to see her; and he did.

Christine smiled thinking back on when she had first encountered Raoul. It was completely unexpected and unbelievable that she had ended up a mistress to a wealthy, handsome, and genuinely caring gentleman. It certainly wasn't something she could have ever foreseen. She blushed. Her palms went to her cheeks to attempt to quell it. Really, she just needed some air.

She got up and walked to the balcony door, where one stood slightly ajar. Having had convinced herself that last night's masked man had truly been real, Christine now heard his voice in her head, commenting on her space. She supposed he was right in that hers was more cared for than others in the brothel. She hadn't wanted to tell him that it was all thanks to Raoul. He had insisted on such with Madame Giry. After all, he did want to make sure she was being well taken care of in his stead.

Her mind on the stranger from last night, her smile faded. She grew quite confused, contemplative. Never before had any customer behaved as he had. Not only did he seem completely uninterested in her carnally, but then he went ahead and asked something of her that was actually quite personal: to sing. She couldn't have allowed him to complain to Madame Giry, so she had had no choice but to acquiesce.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and an all new type of blush heated her cheeks. There had been something strangely easy with him, like the words had just poured out of her. Of course she was much more timid about her voice than about her line of work. Yet, she believed that she had put him in his place by the end of the song. He had been speechless, after all.

Perhaps it was the change in her typical routine. Or maybe the masked gentleman had put some exhilaration back into her life. She had to admit that she had grown rather bored since Raoul had insisted she be taken off of the books. Now all she could do was serve tea and run errands. Otherwise she found herself sitting in her room all day, waiting to see if she would be lucky and Raoul would grace her with his presence.

As if on cue, the chamber door flew open and the Vicomte de Chagny waltzed in, looking just a bit frazzled. Christine whirled around on him, as if she had just been caught.

"Christine," Raoul exclaimed, grinning.

He stripped off his cloak and top hat and hung them on the nearby stand. It was enough time to allow her to catch her breath and to regain her composure. He instantly strode to her side, taking up her hands in his.

"Christine, is anything the matter?" he questioned.

Slight panic began to set in. "What could possibly be wrong?" she dismissed with a slight, awkward laugh.

"I waved to you down on the street, but you didn't notice me," he explained rather hurt. "I wasn't positive if there was pressing news on your mind."

She smiled then, relieved. "No, not at all, my love. I was just lost in my thoughts of you."

Raoul laid his lips upon hers. It was almost too delicate, too considerate. She wanted him to take her into his arms, savagely, hungrily. She wanted that passion that had seemed to ebb since their initial encounter. Still, it was too much of a good thing, and she still had deep feelings for him.

"I don't have much time," Raoul said between kissing her neck. "I am afraid I am needed shortly."

"But it's been days," Christine whined. "Is there no way you can stay with me?"

He detached himself momentarily to look her sincerely in the eyes. "I am afraid not, my sweet." He traced the line of her jaw with one finger, just barely scraping her skin. "Please don't be upset with me, Christine. I couldn't bare it."

She shook her head, turning away. "I'm not."

Truthfully, she was rather hurt. He didn't understand what she went through in his absence. He didn't know about the harsh glares or the snide remarks by the other girls. He didn't know about the terrible loneliness that plagued her.

Raoul wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I don't have to leave just yet, you realize."

She sucked in some air, pushing all of her feelings down into the pit of her stomach. She had gotten quite good at pretending she didn't care. Then she pivoted back around to face him. "Then why are we wasting our time talking?" she drawled.

She drew Raoul's face into hers, while unbuttoning his vest. She had gotten quite good, too, at undressing men without having to see what she was doing. She pushed it off of his shoulders, and he allowed it to fall to the floor.

He assisted with the back of the emerald green dress she had adorned especially for him. He had picked it out for her, after all. That, too, fell into a heap upon the floor. He carefully lifted her out of the middle of the fabric and carried her to the bed.

Raoul set her down gently, taking a moment to fully examine her nude figure. A charming blush filled her cheeks. He was the only one that she still felt somewhat self-conscious with. He smiled reassuringly then lowered himself gently on top of her.

xXx

Christine stepped casually down the staircase, unhurried. There were already a good number of customers within La Porte Rouge. But, the other girls were taking good care of them. All she had to do was make an appearance and assist with any chores. It wasn't even sunset yet, but they tended to get some early birds.

As she finished descending the stairs, she noticed a man with a familiar white mask loitering rather awkwardly by the front door. She halted immediately, for he hadn't seen her just yet. She had two options before her: she could run back up the steps in hopes that she would still go unnoticed, or she could greet him.

She watched those in the parlor completely ignore him. Meg had one of her regular clients. She sashayed with the gentleman past Christine, making sure to leave her with a glare full of hatred, and up the stairs to her bed chamber. Christine took a deep breath, determined not to be like the rest of them.

She marched up to the man in the white mask, still invisible. It wasn't until she cleared her throat next to him that he acknowledged her presence. He appeared more put together than the previous evening. His hair was nicely combed away from his face, though others may have been less thrilled with that. The uncovered side of his face was not at all a strain to look at in comparison, though. There was color in his cheek this time around, and his outfit was not rumpled or askew.

"Oh, I didn't see you there, mademoiselle," he greeted, rather taken aback.

"What are you doing here?" Christine questioned in a hushed tone. Her gaze darted about and the girls and clients still lingering in the parlor were all staring back, sniggering. She paid them no mind.

He peered to either side of where he stood, as if he had missed some sort of sign that restricted loitering. "Am I not allowed to return to this establishment? Did I do something wrong?"

She sighed. "Of course you can. I didn't mean it in that sense."

Just beyond the gentlemen, she saw Madame Giry watching them. The look on the mistress's face was enough to cause Christine to rethink her approach. She knew that if Madame Giry knew how she had just behaved, she would be in trouble. He must have paid her well if she wasn't quick to send him on his way on another busy evening.

"Was there something else I can do for you?" she stated instead. Her eyes bore into his.

"Well, I wanted to apologize about last night," he started. "I wasn't entirely myself. I am sorry if I scared you in any way."

That took her off guard. She stood still and stared at him, unsure on how else to proceed.

He noticed her reluctance and continued. "I realized that I never got your name. So I was in the area and decided to stop in and inquire."

"It's Christine. My name is Christine." She paused, eyeing him carefully up and down. A hand went to rest on her hip. "You don't strike me as the type to be 'in the area,' Monsieur…"

"Erik, just call me Erik," he insisted. Then he shrugged. "I suppose I may have gone a little out of my way."

Christine scoffed in disbelief. She couldn't believe what was happening. Was it possible that this man was interested in her, as well? She didn't quite know how to react to such an idea. The Vicomte was one thing, but now another proper gentleman? She shook her head against her own thoughts. It was just her silly imagination and her yearning for a better life.

"I'm sorry," Erik was quick to catch, noticing her movement, "did I say something to offend you?"

A smirk was still present on her lips. "There is very little that can offend me these days," she said quietly and honestly. She spied Madame Giry ready to move in on them, staring intently, more than likely concerned over her potential income. That mixed with the feelings of abandonment and loneliness from earlier, Christine decided on the spur of the moment a plan of action. "W-Would you like to accompany me on a stroll?"

Erik appeared quite taken aback. The surprise quickly faded and made way for a pleasant, appreciative smile. "That would be lovely," he replied.

"Good."

Christine grabbed his arm and marched out the front door.

"Wouldn't you prefer to head back in and grab a cloak first?" Erik suggested.

Christine rubbed her bare arms as they proceeded down the street and away from La Porte Rouge. She hadn't thought ahead properly and now found herself out in the cold without the proper outerwear. The emerald gown was not fashioned for such chilly temperatures. Though her arms and the exposed part of her chest stung, she still refused to return to the brothel. She would rather freeze than be exposed to such scrutiny.

"Actually, I wouldn't. I'll be fine," she insisted.

Erik shook his head. In one sweep, he had removed his cloak and draped it over her shoulders. "Then please accept mine instead."

She eyed him up and down, suspiciously. "Won't you be cold then?"

He grinned reassuringly. "I am quite comfortable, in all honesty. That cloak was getting a bit warm. It will be put to better use on you."

"Well, thank you, monsieur."

"It's Erik, remember?"

"Right. Erik."

They continued down the alleyway, turning onto the main street once a route became available. It appeared that Christine actually had a destination in mind. There was a small group of shops just down the street that she frequented. Madame Giry had business arrangements with them that Christine chose not to question. She merely retrieved what she was told to retrieve.

She hesitated a moment, trying to build up the courage to say what was on her mind. "If you don't mind me saying, Erik, you don't strike me as a gentleman who would frequent brothels."

He chuckled. "I suppose I am not."

"So what brought you to La Porte Rouge then?" she pried.

He cleared his throat, somewhat uncomfortably. "Let's just say that it provided a means of escape at exactly the right time." He couldn't help smirking at his double meaning.

Not quite satisfied with the answer, Christine still accepted it. "That will do, I suppose. It could be seen as a means of escape for a lot of men. So you really returned just to apologize?"

"And to ask your name," Erik added. He allowed for her a small giggle. "I felt compelled to seek you out, actually. After that song you sang yesterday-"

Christine halted immediately and pivoted to face him, interrupting him. Her hands rested on her hips. "Do you always request such things?"

"Music has always been a sort of respite for me in an otherwise hectic or distressing time," Erik informed her. "I am quite glad that I did ask you to sing because you have an amazing voice, Christine."

Her heart skipped a beat at his pronunciation of her name, as well as his compliment. He was so sincere, so genuine when he spoke to her. She could do little else other than believe him and appreciate his kindness.

They picked up their pace again, approaching ever nearer to the stores.

"My father always encouraged my singing," Christine disclosed, rather hesitantly at first. She figured if he could share personal information then so could she. She stared at the pavement in front of her feet as she walked. "When he died, I had to find a way to survive and unfortunately singing isn't necessarily a secure source of income."

"For you, though, I am sure you could make a very comfortable living off of your voice."

"That's very kind of you," she said quietly. She lifted her chin, carrying a sad sort of smile. "But, alas, I fear that it is a dream that will never be. Not in this life, at least."

Erik had nothing to respond to her with. How could one reassure a creature in such a state? Especially, when her mind appeared to be made up. He felt very dismayed at her lost dream. He bit his lip to keep himself from saying something he might have regretted. Instead, he allowed her to change the mood.

"What is it exactly that you do, though, Erik?" she asked after a pause.

He hesitated. "I'm sort of between occupations at the moment. I worked with the Palais Garnier for some time. Then I traveled a bit. Now I am currently doing some research for a personal project."

"Well, you are quite a busy man."

"It's better if I stay occupied, trust me."

They had reached the shop that Christine meant to go into. There was a bundle of candles waiting for her within. They stopped, though, as she pivoted toward him again. This time she was curious. Erik was certainly something new and interesting in her life. He presented an escape from the dull routine she had grown accustomed to. He intrigued her.

"Why?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why, what?"

"Why is it better that you maintain a busy lifestyle?" she asked again in all innocence.

A shadow seemed to cross his face. "If my mind is occupied, it is less likely to wander," he muttered in a deep tone that she hadn't heard from him. He appeared to be in some sort of reverie. "As of late, my wanderings have been…dangerous. I can't allow it to happen anymore."

Erik blinked a couple of times then as if coming out of a trance and noticing Christine's presence still lingering. He tried to move past it, smiling as if nothing had happened. Yet, Christine still remained rather put off. She had received an eerie feeling during his explanation. Perhaps it would have been best if she had never asked him in the first place.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I got a little carried away." She shook her head to show him that there had been no harm done. "I am afraid I must leave, though."

She sighed, more disappointed than she thought she would have been. "I enjoyed the company, Erik," she admitted somewhat awkwardly. "It isn't often that I get to take part in a nice conversation."

Erik dug around in the pockets of his vest and trousers, apparently searching for something. He extracted a small white card with dark ink scribbled on it. He handed it to her delicately, and she haltingly accepted it.

"Please feel free to stop by if you ever find you need a friend," he insisted.

Erik gave her one last grin and turned on his heel to walk in the opposite direction. He left her staring after him, holding his card dumbly in one hand. His departure had been rather abrupt. She hadn't even realized that she still had his cloak about her shoulders. In fact, she wouldn't notice until she stepped through the shop door. For now, she was still mesmerized by Erik.

Finally able to tear her eyes away from Erik's disappearing form, Christine looked down at the cursive across the white calling card. It appeared to be handwriting—his, she was quite sure. It had his name and address scribbled across it. Had he written this earlier in the day expecting to hand it out to her?

"A friend," she repeated under her breath. Her gaze shifted upward to where he had once stood. "Indeed."


	3. Eight Years Before

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** I like the speculation thus far. It is entertaining and informative. I wanted to start off with a little note before this chapter began. As you will see, this chapter goes back in time to when Erik was first inflicted and attempting to find a cure. It gets away from Christine for a moment, but she will be back. I promise. Fans of the book will get to see a certain character pop up. I also wanted to let it know that what Erik stumbled upon or searched for wasn't the first time. Mankind had had the same questions before. It is only realistic that he isn't the first. And, I chose the passing of eight years because it didn't seem like too much or too little. There seems to be enough time beforehand for Erik to have properly searched for answers to his questions, as well as time afterward for his condition to worsen.

**Chapter 3 – Eight Years Before**

To any other visitor, the Persian marketplace would have been very reminiscent of a labyrinth, but not to Erik. Having lived there for a few years already, and frequenting the same bazaar, he could weave through the crowds of people like water through a sieve. He generally maintained a well-groomed exterior, but not that day. His dark hair was matted to his forehead with perspiration. His eyes were red, and he felt feverish.

He had wrapped himself up in comfortable, loose clothing so as not to feel suffocated. It was quite easy to do in the heat radiating off of the sand. He still managed to navigate well despite his haziness. Once he had broken free of the main stalls and congestion, he swerved into some of the back alleyways. His destination wasn't exactly publicly known or shared. It was something he had discovered in his pursuit.

His legs began to weaken ever so slightly, and if it wasn't for the support of surrounding buildings, his knees might have buckled. His vision started to sway. Still, he managed to venture onward, mostly fueled by his desire and determination to reach the one man who might be able to help him.

Erik stopped in front of a wooden slab, swaying slightly from the fever in his head. The door had the smallest of smears across it, appearing dark like mud. To any untrained eye, that was precisely what it was: a mud stain. Quite typical of their surroundings, some would think. However, Erik knew it meant more, as few others did too.

He rapped upon the door with what strength he had, which didn't produce too noticeable of a sound. So he tried again, but ended up missing the wood completely and scratching his knuckles on the stone façade. He was getting worse by the second. He had to get inside.

"Nadir!" he called against better judgment. It would certainly get the Persian's attention, but at the same time the man's anonymity was sacred to him. "Nadir!"

It did the trick.

The door swung open on a very alarmed and rather terse looking man. He eyed Erik up and down and immediately his expression softened. He stuck his head outside of the doorframe, glancing one way then the other. Apparently satisfied that there hadn't been any undue attention called to him, he held the door open wider.

"Come in," Nadir admitted.

And Erik acquiesced as well as he could.

The interior appeared lush and extravagant in comparison to the exterior. Where the outside wouldn't receive a second glance, the decorations and furnishings within were eye-catching. Draperies were hung about the place, acting almost as doorways to section off areas. It made some appear forbidding and others quite welcoming. The room, however, was large and open. In the center was a ring of cushioned seating with a circular table in the middle.

Erik had been inside enough times, and he was under such duress, that it went unnoticed. He could do little more than stagger to the center and there, fell onto the cushions, gasping for breath. Yet, despite his state, Nadir seemed unhurried. The Persian bolted the door and drew a similar veil over it then pivoted to tend to his guest.

"Wh-What did you do?" Erik stammered, trying to find his breath and break through the excruciating pain at the same time.

"I did what you asked of me," Nadir told him. He bypassed Erik and slipped behind a tapestry.

Erik groaned in a very animalistic manner. "I did not ask for this!" he managed between gritted teeth.

The next moment Nadir returned carrying a tray that had a pot of some steaming liquid, a bowl, and some strange looking herbs on it. He set it down on the circular table, taking a seat in the process. He very masterfully began to mix these ingredients together into a single concoction.

"You came to me in search of answers," Nadir explained rather level-headedly, despite the situation. "What makes someone or something inherently good versus inherently evil? What are the differences in their natures? What are their catalysts? How do they grow?" He paused. "Must I go on?"

Erik groaned loudly, rolling onto his stomach.

Nadir accepted that as a negative response. He swirled the ingredients in the single bowl, ensuring they were mixed completely. Then he set his tools down and picked up the bowl, taking it delicately between two hands toward where his guest lay afflicted.

"I told you the path would be dangerous, did I not?" Nadir baited.

"Yes, yes, for God's sake yes!" Erik hollered, as if his gloating hurt worst.

He held the bowl in front of Erik. "Drink this. It should help."

Erik didn't need to be told twice. With his vision spinning and his strength ebbing, he gathered his last effort to grasp the bowl and pour its contents down his throat. He didn't feel the burning liquid. His insides held a greater fire. He couldn't taste anything, for he was drunk on pain. One moment he had the bowl and the next it was clattering against the floor.

Through the agony, he hoped and prayed that he had received the concoction in time. He didn't give a thought about whether or not it was correct or it would actually work. He had to believe that it would. Even as his vision tunneled and blackness was closing in on every side, he had to believe. Even as he fell hard into unconsciousness, that hope still remained.

xXx

Erik blinked, opening his eyes very slowly. He was groggy, and every muscle in his body ached. He found himself staring up at a decorated ceiling, not quite knowing where exactly he was right away. As he turned his head this way and that, his location became apparent.

He was afraid to sit up, just feeling how tense his body was without even moving it yet. But, he knew that he was just procrastinating and that it would have to be done. He sat up, instantly regretting the decision. His insides lurched, nausea flooding his system. But, he managed to keep the emptiness down. His skin was overrun with goose prickles, partially due to the sweat from earlier. His clothes were matted to his body with a disgusting and stale feel to them.

"N-Nadir?" he called. His voice cracked. His throat burned and pushed against the use. He tried to swallow, but it was difficult. "Nadir?"

The Persian poked his head out of a corridor hidden by the draperies. "You're awake," he observed.

"Wh-What-"

"You've been out for a few hours, my friend," he informed, coming further into the room. "You'll have to take it easy. Your body has just gone through a lot of strain."

"I-I don't understand. What's happening?"

Nadir eased down onto the cushions across the table from him. His hesitation did not comfort Erik. "Do you remember the obsession that brought you to me in the first place?" he began, rehashing the tale from the beginning.

"O-Of course. It still interests me."

"You had traveled around the world in pursuit of an answer and finally showed up with the belief that I might be able to help."

"And you did."

Nadir stared directly into Erik's blood-shot eyes. "Do you recall the warning that I gave you?" When there was no immediate answer, he continued. "I told you that it was a dangerous path you were walking. I warned you not to continue on, as it would only lead to trouble. But still, you persisted."

Erik swallowed. "I have to know," he whispered desperately.

Nadir shook his head. "Do you not see what the pursuit of the truth has done to you? Do you not realize what you've become? Your soul has split in two. You now possess both natures that you were so desperately searching for: good and evil."

"That's impossible-"

"What you were experiencing earlier," Nadir cut in, knowing full well the information he was imparting was difficult to believe, "was that split. The evil wants nothing more than to kill off the good that exists. It was that evil trying to emerge."

Erik was rendered speechless. His mind couldn't wrap around the explanation, but his heart was frozen with fear. Something in his gut knew that this was the truth. Immediately his mind tried to find reason behind this bizarre phenomenon.

Nadir closed in, as if not wanting any outsiders to hear. "You must not let it," he insisted. His tone and expression certainly caught Erik's attention. "You must defeat the evil within, for if it is released upon the world, there will be much suffering and death."

"How do I do that?"

Nadir sat back, the tense air ebbing. "I cannot help you there, my friend."

"B-But you know all about it," Erik said, aghast.

"Do not mistake me," Nadir corrected. "I have come across this only two other times before. I know very little about it."

Nadir stood and disappeared behind the veil where he had previously retrieved the tea ingredients. There were a few clinks that issued forth before he emerged. He held a couple of pouches in his hands, which he set on the table in front of Erik. Then he slid into a seat again.

"Take these," he offered. "If you mix an equal portion of each into a cup of boiling water, it should stave off the evil growing within you. However, do not think that this is the remedy. It is just a temporary fix that will become less and less effective as time goes on."

Erik sighed, his arms wrapped around his stomach as if to comfort it. He stared at the pouches before him. "Thank you, Nadir," he muttered. There was no more fight left in him. It had been his own quest for knowledge that had been his ultimate undoing. He had to come to accept that.

He grasped the pouches gently and got, rather shakily, to his feet. He certainly didn't feel as hindered as he had on his way there, but he was nowhere near his full strength. Still, he would be fine for now. He moved carefully toward the door, grazing the edge of the white mask with his fingers to ensure it was still in place. It was.

"There is one favor I must ask in return of you, my friend," Nadir said before Erik had reached the door.

Erik looked over his shoulder, rather depressed. "Anything."

Nadir stood. A dark cloud seemed to hover over him. He moved in closer, carrying a somber attitude. "You must leave this place," he stated emotionlessly.

"What?" Erik asked in confusion.

"You cannot stay here," Nadir threatened coldly. "I cannot allow you to put my people in danger. If you are still in the country by tomorrow night, be assured that you will not see the following sunrise."

Erik paused then nodded comprehendingly. "I understand."

"Farewell, my friend."

Erik was about to walk out of the residence, but stopped before exiting. He turned back. "One last thing, Nadir. You mentioned that you had come across this…condition two previous times."

"Yes, that is correct." Nadir raised an eyebrow, curious to see where this was going.

"Whatever became of those two other cases, if you don't mind me asking?"

Nadir paused, hesitant to answer. There was a look of intense pity. "The evil became too strong and both ended in death. I'm sorry, my friend."


	4. The Phantom

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** So I figured I needed to have the "Hyde" side of Erik pop up sooner or later. I really wanted to create an evil/threatening sort of dynamic with him. Please don't be cheesed out by the alias I gave to that side of him. I figured that it made him less human, which kind of worked. Let it be noted, though, that this voice is in his head to begin with. It's as if someone else is speaking to him inside of his head. I did notice that my chapters are a bit longer than in my previous works. I think that there just seems to be more to get out in a single go. I just wanted to say that I am not quite aiming for any particular length so I apologize if one happens to be much longer or another much shorter.

**Chapter 4 – The Phantom**

Erik was reading the morning paper in his easy chair when he felt the first pang in his stomach. It occurred so suddenly and painfully that he keeled over, the black and white pages floated to the ground. It had been a couple of days since he had last felt the sickness wash over him. In the initial years, there had always been a good length of time that had passed between episodes. It had lessened as the years went on, though. Nowadays, he was lucky to get a few good days in between.

He had gotten too distracted. That girl, Christine, had done well in taking his mind off of his affliction. He had never fared particularly well with the opposite sex. But, a reminder of it came agonizingly back to him along with the pain.

He fell against a side table, knocking a meaningless glass figurine to the floor, where it shattered. He didn't know why he continued to purchase such trinkets, since they always seemed to meet their demise whenever his episodes started.

Staggering, Erik made his way to an oriental cabinet. It appeared out of place in his otherwise pristine and somewhat darkly decorated apartment. With shaking hands, he unlatched the two doors, and swung them open. The shelves were completely filled with labeled jars, beakers, measuring instruments, and other paraphernalia. He desperately searched for specific ingredients when another startling pang hit him. His hand involuntarily swept across the shelf, knocking some of the containers from their place. They shattered on the ground and mixed with the already broken glass.

Wincing, he waited until the wave was over, and by over he meant just at the point where his body got used to the pain. At that point, he finished his search for the jars. He took up the first and removed the lid and peered inside. Empty. He shoved it back onto the shelf, out of place, and picked up the next. Empty. This one he left fall to the floor, utterly defeated. There was no hope for him at that moment.

He had been experimenting with the other ingredients on the shelves, but none of them were useful without those two bases. How could he have allowed them to run out? Then Christine flashed across his mind. Honestly, his head had been so preoccupied with her that he hadn't even checked on his stores. He didn't blame her. He just blamed his distractedness from the only goal in his life that mattered.

Erik fell to the ground amidst the scattered pieces of glass when the next surge of pain overcame him. His vision was tunneling. He could feel the cold sweat across his forehead and pinning his clothes to his body. It was happening so quickly. He hardly had any time to react anymore.

"_Erik…"_

He gasped, shaking his head against the pull. He heard the call in his head, but he refused to listen. As soon as he acknowledged the voice, he would lose. Yet, he could feel his body shaking. His muscles ached as if being stretched into directions he wasn't used to.

"_Erik, you can't resist. I'm growing stronger. You know I'm growing stronger."_

"No!" he screamed to no one. "Get out of my head!" His fingers intertwined with his raven locks.

_The deep, throaty laughter—mocking, patronizing. "I am you!"_

"No!" he screamed again, not wanting to listen.

"_Soon there will be no Erik left. All the world will know is The Phantom."_

He could feel his head spinning. Unconsciousness was coming for him and he couldn't escape. He knew that this wasn't the end, though. He knew that he would be back at some point. But what he would awaken to, he could not say.

"_Just go to sleep now, Erik. You don't have to worry about a thing. I'll take over from here."_

xXx

Raoul's presence had been brief, but satisfactory. He had managed to give her more time than he had the other day. She suspected it was more out of guilt than wanting to actually be with her, but she figured she would get whatever she could before he abandoned her again. And speaking of which, she had learned that the following day he was traveling outside of the country until the end of the week due to business.

That meant that Christine was left alone again. She held a moth-eaten cotton blanket close about her shoulders, attempting to stave off the chill in the night air. She sat on the thin mattress waiting for the time when loneliness and heartache would plague her again. It usually wasn't long after Raoul left, and it typically occurred when the sun went down.

She hated to pine after him, but there seemed to be little else she could do. In a life such as hers, a patron such as Raoul was considered a miracle. And, she could see him as little else, no matter how much she yearned for him to change—to see her and want to be with her, only her.

There were three raps upon her door. She knew those knocks and hardly moved in response. Madame Giry poked her head into the bed chamber, nearly missing her thin frame in the dim lighting of the numerous candles about the room.

"Oh, Christine, there you are," Madame Giry said, as if surprised to find her in her own bedroom. "It seems you have a visitor downstairs."

The mistress of La Porte Rouge seemed to be treating her nicer than usual. She wasn't necessarily abused, but there was definitely some tension between her and the other women in the establishment. So Christine stood slowly and approached suspiciously.

"A visitor? Who would be-" she began, but stopped midsentence, coming to some sort of realization.

He had completely slipped her mind during her time with Raoul. Could it be? She still had his card and the memory of his invitation: _"…if you ever find you need a friend."_

Christine tried to suppress a smile tugging at her lips. "Right away," she answered.

She strode past Madame Giry, feeling rather excited to meet her visitor. With one hand on the bannister, she swung around and descended swiftly the remaining staircase. It wasn't until she had nearly reached the bottom that she finally gazed about the main floor to spy her guest. Yet, she appeared instantly and abruptly disappointed.

While there were a number of customers loitering in the parlor, as was customary, she figured the man she was looking for would be easily spotted by his white mask. The sea of faces never turned up the familiar one, though.

Christine addressed Madame Giry over her shoulder, hearing the older woman following her descent. "I don't see him, Madame Giry. Who is this visitor you are referring to?"

Madame Giry scurried past her and gently tapped a nearby gentleman. "Sir, she's here."

The man appeared slightly hunched, making his dark suit appear to not fit correctly. Underneath the top hat, his black hair was a mess. It looked to be damp with sweat or grease, one couldn't be sure what exactly, so it hung in strings across his face. But, looking carefully, it was evident that the right side of his face had some sort of disfigurement.

As soon as the man turned around, Christine was hit with some recognition. But, as soon as she noticed his eyes, all thoughts of familiarity vanished. She would have certainly remembered beyond a shadow of a doubt if she had seen those eyes before. Or, at least what lay behind them.

She physically shivered, tugging the blanket closer about her shoulders. But it wasn't due to the temperature of the air. The gentleman's eyes oozed with rage and lust. Through his twisted expression, she completely believed that the two could fuse into one destructive force, which resulted in this man before her.

"D-Do I know you?" Christine asked unsteadily, his presence making her uncomfortable.

"After tonight," he growled, "you will never forget me."

She turned hastily toward Madame Giry, concerned and afraid. The mistress, though wary, laughed it off, playing up to her customer. It was always about the customer and not the girls. She never saw the danger, or at least never cared to acknowledge it.

"My, how refreshing," Madame Giry breathed. "I am afraid I did not catch your name before, Monsieur…"

"You can just refer to me as The Phantom," the man instructed.

Christine shook her head. "That's not a name."

Madame Giry laughed, but this one was strained and nervous. "My dear girl, he does not have to have a name. We have many anonymous patrons."

Christine looked from her back to the gentleman. "So, what did you want with me?" she asked carefully.

Madame Giry caught her hesitation and, with a hand on her shoulder, turned her away for a quick word. "He has requested you and only you, Christine," she told the girl. "You don't know how much money he is paying for your company. It nearly matches that of the Vicomte."

"What?" Christine breathed.

"You will take this gentleman up to your quarters. He requests to see you anytime he wishes, which I will not stand in the way of," Madame Giry informed.

"You can't allow that," Christine pleaded, tears in her eyes.

"It's already been done," Madame Giry said adamantly. "Either you quietly obey or you can find yourself a new place to live."

"But-"

"I don't want to hear it. You will keep this a secret from the Vicomte, and you will not talk about that man to your new client. Is that understood?"

Christine nodded, not knowing how else to respond and certainly not wanting to end up on the streets. That seemed to be the place to go to die. She wasn't quite ready for that yet.

Madame Giry brought them back into The Phantom's presence. She smiled politely, offering up Christine to him, just like offering up a lamb for the slaughter. "She's all yours, monsieur."

"Thank you, Madame," the mysterious man said, tipping his hat.

Christine led the man silently up the steps, her head downcast the entire way. Her mind was still trying to find a way out of this situation, but she knew she was merely prolonging the inevitable. She was allowed her silence. This Phantom did not interrupt.

She had opened the door and invited the gentleman in, the candles still burning and offering relief from the dense shadows. She was in the process of closing it to provide some privacy when she felt herself slammed against an adjoining wall. Initially she was completely out of sorts. The world spun for a moment before her eyes, before she could comprehend what had happened.

She found herself face-to-face with her customer, and from the feel of it, he had his fingers wrapped around her throat. Fear rose soon after the recognition. Her chest heaved in attempts to suppress the emotion, or to at the very least keep it hidden from her expression and demeanor. His breath was hot on her bare skin, reminding her of a wild animal feverish with lust.

She swallowed. "Monsieur…" she said very softly, trailing off.

"I can give you all that you desire, my dear," he growled rather than whispered. His free hand went up to her cheek and caressed it more gently than she would have expected. "As long as you give me all I need."

"All you need?" she repeated, asking him to clarify. She didn't like what he could possibly mean by that.

"I have an appetite for you and only you, Christine." He smirked, his teeth shining in the dim glow.

She swallowed again. It was a fine line she was walking. She didn't want to upset The Phantom, but she also didn't want him to think that she was completely giving into him. She was terrified of what he was capable of, no matter which direction she took. It was in his eyes that she saw the most threat. She dare not cross him.

"You ought to be careful, monsieur," Christine suggested lowly. "A lonely girl might fall in love."

He chuckled, which was a deep throaty sound. "You can be assured that you will never be alone again."

Christine saw something flash across those frenzied eyes that startled and terrified her. A gasp just barely escaped her throat before he kicked the bedroom door shut.


	5. In Need of a Friend

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** To clarify, Christine did not recognize Erik in The Phantom. His features were so distorted and just the look in his eye was enough to throw her off. She sensed familiarity there, but the person in front of her was so different from Erik that she just couldn't imagine them being one in the same.

**Chapter 5 – In Need of a Friend**

She hadn't moved since the previous evening, and dreaded doing so. There would be no way that Madame Giry would allow her to stay in bed. After all, why should she receive any special treatment? It wasn't abnormal for the girls to receive visitors with a rough touch, but Christine had never before been so confused and so physically in pain.

Christine stared at the sun shining in through the balcony doors, a discolored sheet clenched tightly about her sore body. It was the only thing comforting her at the moment. She couldn't escape the memories that played like a slideshow in her mind.

The Phantom had been anything but gentle. He had very much ripped the dress from her body, shredding the fabric with his bare hands. He had bitten and clawed at her nude body, as if he were trying to devour her whole. He had thrown her onto the bed, but the assault hadn't stopped there. She could recall how her insides had felt as if they were being ripped in two. Each thrust from him had been excruciating. Then, just when she had thought that it had been over, the whole horrific act had started again.

It had been well into the wee hours of the morning when he had finally left.

Christine had tried to sleep, but it had been uncomfortable and short. She had been left with bruises and scratches across her entire body, except her face, which he had somehow managed to miss. She had spilled blood more than once, which the sheets could attest to. She didn't know how she was supposed to go on as normal if she couldn't even move without pain searing throughout her entire body. She questioned bringing this to Madame Giry's attention. It was embarrassing.

There was a rap upon the door, which was instantly followed by it being forced inward. It wasn't locked.

"What makes you think you can stay up here all day, girl?" Madame Giry's voiced traveled. "I have an er-" It stopped immediately when the older woman spotted her injured body entangled in the sheet.

Christine listened to the small gasp followed by the slow footfalls that moved steadily closer to her. A single tear rolled down her cheek. It was more so due to the fear and the discomfort from last night. She didn't want Madame Giry to see her in such a weak state, but she was helpless.

"Mon dieu*," Madame GIry said beneath her breath as she sat gently on the mattress next to Christine. "_He_ did this?"

It was a dumb question. They both knew who the culprit was. Christine didn't answer. Her throat felt dry and scratchy. She didn't even indicate that she had heard, as she was still concerned about moving even a single muscle.

Madame Giry pulled off a little of the sheet to reveal Christine's back. She frowned, seeing the large bruises and the nail marks. She barely touched one of the scratches, tracing it from its beginning to its end, causing Christine to wince and suck in a breath.

She clucked her tongue. "It is a shame, but we must hold our heads high and muster on. These bruises, these scratches, they will all heal. However, the experience will stay with you forever. I know this." There was real sincerity in her voice. The only thing Christine could conclude from it was that Madame Giry had at one time had a similar experience. "You must grow stronger, though."

It could have been that Christine believed Madame Giry was truly listening for once or that her desperation could make a difference. She rolled over as best she could, groaning and biting her lip, but a wail still escaping. Her body was on fire and tingled everywhere, like thousands of needles. She stared up at the mistress of La Porte Rouge with pleading eyes.

"Please, Madame Giry, you must not allow him back," Christine murmured. She could barely do anything else. "I beg of you."

Madame Giry offered a regretful smile and shook her head, brushing some of the wild locks out of Christine's face. "I am sorry, my dear. He has already given sufficient coin and I cannot have him trying to find a way of getting it back. Now, I have an errand for you to run. Firstly, draw yourself a bath and get cleaned up then come see me."

After Madame Giry had exited the room, Christine did her best to grudgingly get out of bed. Each movement was agony, no matter how careful she tried to be. She pushed through the pain, knowing herself stronger than such weakness, even though tears shone in her eyes the entire time. She hadn't been able to properly cover herself after what had occurred the previous evening, so she pattered around the room on bare feet to retrieve a robe to hide her indecency.

She moved slowly around the girls that littered the hallways. She tried to appear as invisible as possible, but the stares and giggles following her indicated that her efforts didn't quite work. Even her walk was off. It had developed a sort of limp, as if her hip muscles were too sore to move properly. She used her hair as a shield for her red eyes and the bruising on her neck.

Christine locked the door to the washroom, wanting nothing more than ultimate privacy, or as much as she could get in that place. As she waited for the water in the tub to fill, she inspected herself as best as she was able to, mainly out of curiosity as to what he had done to her.

In the half mirror, she glanced as much of her naked body that was reflected back up and down. She had to put her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out, for what she saw completely appalled her. There were little explosions of deep blues and deep purples covering nearly her entirety. The number of cuts that she could see made it appear as if she had been attacked by one of the stray hounds lurking in the alleyways. It was her sunken eyes and gaunt face that haunted her, though. She couldn't even recognize herself.

She waited until the water in the tub had reached close enough to the top and had steam rising from its surface before she turned away from the upsetting reflection and eased her way in a toe at a time. Honestly, too, she just couldn't look at herself anymore. She had never imagined herself to be a victim, but the truth was blatantly before her.

Though it had burned at first, the hot liquid actually helped relax her tense muscles and sore bones. She would have stayed submerged all day if she had her way, but unfortunately Madame Giry would have never allowed it. She remained long enough for her fingers to prune up and her tears to subside then decided it was time to move on.

Back in her private chamber, she dressed in rather loose fitting garments that covered from her neck to her wrists to her shoes. She couldn't risk anyone seeing the bruises and cuts. She pinned her hair up messily, not necessarily caring too much about it. Then she stopped. Her eyes fell upon the large outer coat that she had accidentally taken hostage however many days ago. She stepped to it and lifted it out of the wardrobe and to her nose. She closed her eyes and breathed in. It still smelled of him: an odd aroma she couldn't quite place, but all the same didn't turn her stomach. She punched her arms through the appropriate holes, feeling rather vulnerable and lonely and just wanting some sort of comfort. It made her look a bit shabby in appearance, but she could have cared less.

"Ah, you're here," Madame Giry greeted when Christine finally emerged on the main level of the house. The older woman peered into a little change purse, extracting some coins as she made her way to the girl. "We need some more wine for the customers. You'll have to head to the market to pick some up."

She placed a few coins into Christine's outstretched palm. "Will that be all?" Christine asked, letting the money plop into the coat's pocket.

"Yes." Madame Giry paused, spying the outfit that Christine had adorned. She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Next time, dear, wear something a bit more considerate. We want to attract people to our establishment, not scare them away."

Christine didn't answer, but pivoted on her heel and marched bitterly out.

It was true that the more she moved, the more her pain seemed to subside, or her body grew used to it. Either way, she stopped noticing. It ceased being important. She strolled the streets at her leisure, finding it unnecessary to have to rush or really to do anything. The incident the night before was still very present on her mind. In fact, it was likely to still be long after the bruises faded and the scratches turned to scars.

She had never had any real confidence when it came to other people. After her father had passed away, she had learned quickly that trust wasn't to be dished out so quickly or easily. By the time she had joined the ranks of La Porte Rouge, she had already learned to keep to herself and to mind her own business. That was the only reason she had survived thus far.

Raoul certainly didn't help her situation. Yes, she appreciated him and even perhaps loved him in a sense. But, it was more of a relationship for benefit than for the heart. She could always see that when he was away on his business trips. When she was in his arms again, though, she always had a different view. Currently, cynicism was her companion.

She yearned for someone who would listen to her, who would understand. She couldn't bear to be in the presence of Madame Giry or the other girls, who would say it was all part of the job. Even if she didn't feel like talking, as she really didn't know if she could even gather the courage to confide in anyone, she still wanted to feel that presence nearby. Ultimately, she just didn't want to feel alone.

With her hands shoved into the coat's pockets, she stopped abruptly when her fingers brushed against a bit of cardboard. She withdrew it, peering curiously at what it was. Then the recollection came back to her.

"_Please feel free to stop by if you ever need a friend."_

She turned the card over in her fingers. The dark ink that was scribbled across the card revealed his name, Erik, and his address. She wasn't terribly far away from the destination. She could certainly walk there, though it might take over an hour, depending on the traffic on the streets.

Christine didn't need much convincing. Immediately, she turned in the opposite direction.


	6. Of Dreams

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** So this chapter runs simultaneously with the last chapter, but then you should see them come together toward the end. I wanted to show what was going on with Erik after that fateful night. I know this has been a long time coming, but hopefully this chapter will have been well worth the wait. Please enjoy. And, just to clarify ahead of time, Christine would probably too sore to actually indulge in any carnal acts, if that makes sense. But…she may have been close to giving in…very close…

**Chapter 6 – Of Dreams**

Erik awoke groggily without any idea to where he was or what had caused the splitting headache he found himself suffering through. He discovered that he had passed out on the floor—specifically his floor, it became apparent. He must have barely made it through the door because his body had been strewn just inside of it.

He squinted against the sunlight streaming in through the half-closed curtains, as if his eyes had never beheld the brightness before. From the angle it cast across the ground, though, he figured it was sometime in the early afternoon.

He managed to stagger to his feet, swaying slightly unbalanced. That was when he first noticed that he was still wearing the same clothes he had adorned the previous day. Granted, it was more wrinkled and disheveled, but it was the same, nonetheless. In fact, the longer he dwelled on it, he found he couldn't recall much after dressing the previous morning and sitting down to read the paper.

And that lack of memory was enough indication that he had once again succumbed to the evil within.

Despite that uncomfortable and disturbing knowledge, there was still one good observation he had to make: there was no blood. No blood on his body meant that there was a very good chance that nobody had ended up dead. It was a relief.

Stepping a little oddly, for his muscles felt sore and uncomfortable, Erik's foot knocked into a bottle as he went toward the bedroom to refresh himself. He picked up the empty liquor bottle, tipping it sideways just to prove that there was indeed nothing left inside of it. He sighed.

"Well, that explains the headache," he murmured to himself. Even his voice rasped from lack of hydration.

With the dark bottle in one hand, he padded in the direction of the small kitchen with the intent of seeing the garbage put properly away. That was when he came across the shattered glass. He had forgotten entirely about that. But as he stared at the glittering shards, flashes of memory came back to him.

The pain. The empty containers. The loss of hope.

He tiptoed through the field of glass where he was able to retrieve a broom and dustpan just beyond. He managed to capture all of the pieces then dumped them into the bottom of one of the jars that had mainly remained intact to dispose of when he went out later. He had to venture out, after all. There was no way around it. He had to obtain some more of his vital ingredients or else be faced with another spell soon.

So, he removed the worn clothing and tossed them into a pile to be dealt with at another, more convenient time. He used a bar of soap and the water in his wash basin to give himself a quick rinse. He had to wipe away that smell of liquor and shock the headache from his system. Once finished, he pulled on a pair of fresh black slacks, one of his standard white blouses, and a white vest. The finishing touch, as always, was the porcelain mask he laid gently against the right side of his face.

He had made it to the door and reached for his outer coat to discover it wasn't hanging in its normal location. He paused a moment before realizing that Christine still had it. It had slipped his mind. But, luckily he had a lighter one that he punched his arms into then flew out the door.

The sooner he retrieved those ingredients, the better.

xXx

Erik had two large bundles in his hands as he made his way back to his apartment. He had made sure to purchase some extra of everything. He wasn't about to take chances, not anymore. The herbs and other ingredients were wrapped up in a brown paper bag that had its mouth rolled closed. He had also decided to pick up a few more jars and containers to replace the broken ones. Those were packaged and carried in the other hand.

There was a street that he always turned down that allowed him to see straight onto the building his apartment was in. Turning down that said street, he noted a lone figure loitering amongst the shadows on the stoop. The sun hadn't set an hour before. He wondered who it was and how long since he or she had taken up post there.

As he drew nearer, he saw the figure more clearly. Instantly, he recognized who it was. Though the dark outer coat very much swallowed her whole, he could very much tell that it was Christine. She appeared frail and cautious. Even at that distance he could tell that she glanced about suspiciously. Immediately he was aware that something had happened. He just didn't know what.

"Christine," Erik greeted, startling her as he came up. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She seemed hesitant. But then she held up one hand, which was not visible due to the massive sleeve. "I thought you might need your cloak."

He grinned. "Well, I'd be lying if I denied having thought about it before venturing out this evening." He expected some sort of pleasurable response from her, but she only managed a small smile. He cleared his throat, trying not to let on that he recognized her distress. "Please, come in out of the cold."

Erik led Christine into the building then up into his personal apartment. He held the door open for her, flicking on the lighting system, and she sailed in. She remained standing in the middle of the room, glancing around at his space. He didn't know if she was afraid of dirtying the furniture or any of his belongings or if she was just in slight awe.

"Please have a seat," he offered, motioning toward the few empty options.

She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to make up her mind. "Alright," she said quietly.

Before she went to the small couch, she wriggled out of the heavy overcoat and held it out for him to retrieve. "Thank you," Erik said, taking it from her and hanging it in its appropriate spot. He proceeded to the oriental cabinet to house the items he had just purchased.

"I didn't know if you were going to be here or not," Christine told, procrastinating.

"I was just out picking up some fixings for tea," he explained, stuffing things in correct jars. "Were you waiting long?"

She shook her head, despite him not being able to see from where he was. "No," she responded, though, as well. "I'm just…" She trailed, attempting to find the right words. She didn't want to come off too vulnerable or needy. She barely knew this man and he barely knew her, after all. "The night isn't what it used to be, I suppose." It would do.

There was a bit of a pause. Erik called, "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"If it's no bother."

Christine waited in silence for him to appear. She had ceased looking around at the furnishings and decorations. Her gaze was focused on a spot on the other side of the rug where a few trinkets appeared to have crashed against the bare flooring.

After a few minutes, Erik appeared with a tray. He walked it over to the low table in front of the couch Christine had chosen to sit on. He slid it safely onto the wooden table then proceeded to prepare a cup for his guest. The second teacup, which was larger and deeper, was already filled and steaming with a concoction that didn't appear similar at all to what was in the pot.

"How do you take your tea?" he asked, tipping the spout of the teapot over the empty cup. Dark liquid started to fill it.

"I've learned to adjust without sugar and cream," she said mindlessly, as if she were simply discussing the weather. "We aren't allowed such delicacies. They are only for the customers."

It was an awkward statement. Erik continued to pour the tea, but without another word. Even having met her briefly, he understood that this was not her usual self. There was something heavy weighing on her mind. To reach it, to unlock it, he would have to be careful and patient. He was prepared for such a task.

"Did you have some sort of scuffle in here?" Christine asked, rather bluntly.

"Excuse me?"

"There is broken glass and perhaps porcelain over there." She pointed in its direction.

Erik nearly dropped the teapot onto the tray, as he was in the middle of setting it down again. He had forgotten about that—when he had fallen against his side table. So naturally he hadn't cleaned that mess up. He cleared his throat and slid next to her, trying to play it off and regain his composure.

"Oh, not at all," he insisted, thinking quickly. "I must have accidentally knocked into it and forgot to clean it up. I hope you won't judge me based on such a small overlook." He turned in his seat toward her, finding it necessary to swiftly change the subject. "Listen, Christine, I apologize deeply for making you wait alone in the dark."

She finally smiled, shaking her head. "Please don't. I was just being foolish." She picked up her cup and stared at the tea, but glanced at what he had in front of him as well. "Is that a different blend you have?"

His was a deep crimson, while hers appeared a dark brown. "It is a special blend, I must confess. It helps to keep me calm." He supposed that wasn't a total lie.

They each took a sip of their own tea. There was still a heavy cloud hanging above them. It rested on one of them to make the first move, to say the first word. It wasn't easy to breach, but there was no moving forward until it happened.

So Erik took the leap.

He set his cup down. "Not that I don't enjoy your presence immensely, Christine, but was there a particular reason for your visit tonight?"

She balanced the teacup tightly between her two hands, as if attempting to suck the warmth from it. Her face had fallen back to its distant, sad expression. Yet, he could sense that she wasn't as closed off as she had been when she had first arrived. Still, she hesitated initially.

Finally, though, she said, "I do not want your pity."

"Excuse me?"

She looked directly at him, as if trying to prove a point. But, her eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "I did not come here to seek pity or to listen to some lecture on my lifestyle," she stated adamantly.

Erik shook his head, a little confused and put off. "Christine, I would never-"

She held up a hand to silence him before he could finish. It was best to allow her to go on. It was evident then that she was still trying to find her words and to build up the courage to tell him what had happened. He rested back, getting comfortable and preparing for her to go on.

She turned her gaze away from him and shifted it onto the steaming liquid cupped in her lap. "You offered a friend, if ever I should need one. I find myself in such a situation. Really, I suppose I just came here for the open ear. I fear that there are not many people in my life that I can turn to." She scoffed. "Let me correct myself. There is nobody in my life that would support me."

She paused momentarily to take a sip of the tea. She didn't want to burden him with her problems. She especially didn't want to seem like she was whining. Yet, she had a strong feeling that he wouldn't judge her, at least not the way that other people did. Perhaps that was why she had shown up on his doorstep. Or perhaps it was the hope that he would stay true to his offer of friendship.

Christine sighed. "I had a run in last night with an unruly customer, and it makes a girl think, I suppose. I never imagined my life would turn out like this. I had such hopes and dreams. It just seems a waste—a life I will never get back."

He couldn't stay silent after something like that. "There is still time, Christine," he said softly. "Your life is not a waste. I wish I could help you see that."

"You're being too kind," she said with a shake of her head. "Why? Why are you so kind to me? You don't even know me."

"I know enough. You aren't a bad person, Christine," he insisted. "You are merely a victim of unfortunate circumstances, like so many of us."

A small blush crept to her cheeks, something that didn't happen terribly often in her profession. Yet, he seemed to constantly bring it out in her. "I suppose that there have been a few good things that have come from my circumstances, as you put it, though. I don't know that I would have met you otherwise, for instance."

No one had necessarily told him that before. "This may come as quite a shock to you," he told her sarcastically, because he needed some way to cope and get used to the idea, "but people aren't typically grateful to have met me."

He motioned lightly toward the mask on the right side of his face, but Christine just seemed to shoo that away. It was curious to him how easygoing she appeared to be about it. Usually it drove people away. After all, the unknown was a scary thing; something different was even worse.

"Trust me. You're one of the good ones. I know. I've had some monsters before." Her eyes seemed to glaze over again, and her muscles clenched up. She appeared to almost sink into herself. The teacup was drawn closer to her body, as if it was the last remaining flame on earth. "But the man from last night…I've never seen anyone like him before."

"How do you mean?"

"His eyes. They were so dark, so cruel. It was like I was looking into pure evil itself." She shivered. "I suppose I can't fully explain it. It is something you'd have to experience. Really, there are hardly words to describe the feeling I got just from staring into those eyes."

Erik found that he was at last coming to the source of her current misery. Yet, he seemed unprepared for it, nonetheless. He hadn't imagined that it had stemmed from some sort of beastly customer. That opened up a whole slew of new issues. Even so, he wasn't overcome with pity for her, like she had thought he would be. He wasn't one to judge her out of context, either. Instead, he felt the strongest need to hold her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, as if that alone could protect her from the sins of the world.

He refrained, though. He resisted as he was so accustomed to doing.

Christine winced and immediately set the teacup down. "I suppose I should have trusted my instincts," she muttered with the slightest laugh in her voice. It was of disbelief. That was certain. "But you must understand how scary the thought of being tossed onto the streets is."

Her eyes seemed to plead with him. If that was not compelling enough, the strength it took for her to keep the amount of tears that were welling up from shedding certainly was. He nodded and took one of her small, cold hands in his. It was the only comforting gesture he could think to do at the moment.

"Of course," he agreed. "Christine, what happened? What did he do to you?"

Her lip trembled and a single tear broke loose, rolling silently down her cheek. She broke away from him, spinning as she stood. Without any doubt in her mind, she folded down the high collar of the long cobalt blue dress then proceeded to unbuckle the belt holding the outfit onto her slim frame.

Erik watched her, captivated and unable to avert his gaze. Though she had her back to him, he could see that she bit her lip against every strained movement. Gradually, bruises became revealed. Scratches were brought to light. She shook the dress from her shoulders, and his eyes followed it as it fell into a heap at her feet. A very loose corset and underskirt still covered her in the correct areas, but enough skin was laid bare for him to see the extent of her pain.

Erik got to his feet, most subconsciously. He couldn't say his exact movements because he was solely focused on her. He approached her quietly, but she was very aware of his nearing proximity. Her tears were flowing now, though she still managed to hardly make a peep. She had her arms wrapped about her body, hugging herself for comfort.

He was close enough to be able to trace a long scratch down most of her back that was very reminiscent of fingernails. She groaned as the touch burned her skin. "What kind of monster-" Erik whispered completely aghast. Yet, he was unable to finish his thought out of mere disgust.

"You know," she managed between sobs, "I'm not even supposed to be entertaining other men. I have a patron who pays handsomely for my privacy. Is this my punishment for disobeying him?"

"No, no, you mustn't think that way."

"But, I'm glad I disobeyed him. At least, I am glad I was able to meet you by doing so."

Erik wrapped his arms gently around her. He couldn't resist anymore. He drew her close, comfortingly. He felt her stiffen at first, but then relax. "I would shield you from the world if I could," he whispered in her ear.

His touch on her scarred and bruised body brought her pain at first. But then she eased into him. She allowed him to draw her close, so close that she could feel the warmth radiating off of his body. So close that she could feel his breath on her neck. She closed her eyes, enjoying his presence and wishing that the feeling of security he offered would never end.

Eventually, she pivoted around slowly to face him. Her sobs had ceased. Her tears had almost all dried up. She stared up into his eyes, completely seeing beyond the stoic white mask occupying half of his face. The last remaining tear rolled down her cheek. With a single finger, he removed its presence from her skin.

In the next instant, Christine's lips fell upon his.

She didn't know what drove her to the act, but she didn't even think about it in that moment. She threw her arms around him, despite the ache that lifting her arms so high had on her body. Likewise, Erik wrapped his arms around her waist. She sensed that he was cautious at first, almost thrown off. But then he eased into her, just as she had eased into him.

Erik lifted her easily into his arms and transported her to the sofa they had previously occupied. He laid her down gently, never parting from the embrace. In an act that would otherwise seem tricky or difficult, the transition occurred so naturally.

He felt her hands tug at his vest and his shirt. His nerves were entirely on edge. He didn't know how to react in such a situation. He couldn't even tell if what was happening was even real. Honestly, he didn't care. He was entirely enthralled. If this was a dream, he didn't want to wake up.

Erik moved his lips to Christine's neck. He made sure to softly kiss every bruise, every scratch that he came across. Her skin tingled beneath his lips. He could have drowned in her scent, in her taste. He would have never let her go if he had had his way. But, the same things that delighted him about Christine seemed to excite and draw out the hidden half of himself, as well.

"_Erik…"_

The voice taunted him in the very recesses of his mind. Still, it was enough to cause Erik to hesitate. He couldn't believe that it was awake in a moment like this. The maniacal laughter invaded his ears. It masked Christine's delicate whimpers.

"_You know. Deep down, you know who made those scratches."_

He stopped kissing her with a gasp. His eyes stared widely down at the marks on her body. Disbelief and horror flooded his mind.

"_That's it. Do you recognize your work now?"_

"No," he hissed. "It's not true."

Christine blinked, coming out of her haze of ecstasy. "What?" she breathed. "What did you say?"

"_Go ahead. Have her. Just know that the impression I left last night will always remain."_

Erik climbed off of her, gripping his head. "No!" he screamed.

Christine stood immediately, as well, tightening and rearranging her underclothes. "You don't have to get in an outrage about it," she insisted, sounding hurt and angry. "We don't have to do anything."

She stomped toward where her dress was strewn across the ground. She felt thoroughly embarrassed. She never would have coerced him into doing anything he didn't want to do. The last thing she would have ever desired was to ruin the strange relationship that had been set in place.

Erik whirled toward her, the voice in his head gone. It was as if he hadn't known what he was doing or saying. "What?" He spied her stepping back into her dress. It didn't take him more than a second to realize what had happened and what currently was. "Christine, I didn't mean-"

"Just stop," Christine interrupted. She buckled the belt to secure her dress in place. "I should have known this would be a bad idea. No one is ever that kind, especially to me."

He grabbed her arm as she attempted to pass by, making her twirl back around toward him. "Christine, there is nothing I want more. You must believe me."

She glared at him. "I'm not falling for it anymore, _monsieur_." She addressed him with disdain. "I didn't realize I repulsed you so much. Don't worry. I won't be bothering you anymore."

Christine yanked her arm free from his grasp. He hadn't tried to restrain her, anyway. Without an outer coat, as she hadn't brought a spare, she stormed out of the apartment.

Erik's chest heaved up and down. He hated that she had taken his actions out of context. Yet, he couldn't help feeling that perhaps that was precisely what The Phantom had planned all along. He flipped the tray of tea in a fit of rage. The makings went flying about the apartment. His fists clenched at his sides as he attempted to calm down. It certainly didn't help him suppress the infection inside if he got overexcited.

He strode to the bath chamber, slamming the door closed behind him after entering. He didn't care that it echoed throughout the apartment, or that it could disturb those living around him. He placed his hands to either side of the sink, steaming.

His mind was frenzied. He was still trying to comprehend that it was in fact The Phantom that had harmed Christine. He still refused to believe that the man was part of himself. Somehow it had located her. It had known that getting to her would harm him, too. And, it had somehow reached out to him when he would have assumed it would otherwise have been suppressed. Was the tea not working any longer?

There were many trials ahead of him, he could sense it. There were many wrongs he had to right. He had to find another way to deal with this evil inside. He couldn't let it wreak havoc on the world anymore. He couldn't let it hurt Christine, as he was certain it would continue to do.

Erik shifted his eyes upward. He stared at the mirror, into his own reflection. He delved deep into his own eyes, but did not recognize what he found there. He did not recognize the man and the evil intent hiding within.


	7. A New Life

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews for the previous chapter. I really had a lot of fun writing it. I really wanted to give it the perfect vibe. That's probably why it took longer than usual. I didn't want to go into too many details in this chapter, but I thought it needed some Raoul time. Therefore, if this is too much, I would be happy to soften things a bit. Just let me know. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, though, especially the end. I love me some Raoul, but for whatever reason the ending of this chapter is my favorite part about it. Enjoy.

**Chapter 7 – A New Life**

Standing on the small balcony overlooking the dingy alleyway below, Christine reread the neatly folded letter held in one hand. It went as follows:

_My dear Christine,_

_ It pains me to leave you time and time again. I long for the chance to be with you more than a mere day or two. I miss your sweet slumbering face in the bed next to me. I wish I could always caress your soft skin and kiss those perfect lips. I will make this a reality one day. I promise you that. _

_ I am writing ahead to inform you that tonight is for us. It has been an endless week, but the thought of seeing you when the sun finally sets carries me on. I shall be able to stay with you this time. And, I have important news, my love._

_ Watch for me,_

_ Your Raoul_

The sun was setting in the distance, smearing the sky with crimsons and violets. When Christine looked at it, she was reminded of blood and bruises, much like what she had suffered through earlier in the week. By now, though, most were nearly finished healing.

She had spent the rest of the week in solitude, only venturing out if requested to by Madame Giry. She had had no desire to see anyone after what had transpired with Erik. She had gone to him seeking a friend and had received an enemy in disguise.

He was supposed to have been different from all of the other men in her life. She had actually believed that he had no intention of using her, but she had been wrong. He didn't care for her. But, she figured she couldn't blame him entirely. She had raised her own hopes, after all. She had convinced herself that she could trust him and perhaps even care for him.

She had been stupid—a trait which she had thought she had thoroughly grown out of in all of her experiences. She had vowed to never be so foolish again. Yet, she had made similar promises before and that had hardly done her any good.

Christine turned back inside, the skirt on the emerald gown twirling charmingly about her ankles. She had taken extra care in her appearance for that evening. She wanted to make sure that Raoul would receive a very warm welcome. Her hair had been intricately braided and arranged off of her neck. She had pinched her cheeks to bring some life to her otherwise pale and sallow face.

She had cleaned her bed chambers, paying special attention to the details. She genuinely wanted Raoul to feel welcome and thought of. She wanted him to know that she was trying and that she could rise to the occasion. She wanted him to know that she truly and deeply cared.

Christine had made up her mind that evening she had stormed out of Erik's apartment that she wanted success with Raoul. She had decided that she would do everything in her power to ensure that he would want for nothing with her—that she would be the only one he would ever need.

She supposed she was in slight denial over his marriage still. It wasn't unheard of for gentlemen to take mistresses. In many cases, too, the mistress ended up living in luxury and being well taken care of. As long as she got Raoul, she decided that she could cope with his public life.

In any case, she didn't have many options before her. And, Raoul was an opportunity to leave this pathetic life behind and to actually have a chance.

It wasn't long after darkness took over the earth that she heard familiar footsteps ascending the staircase and nearing the door to her chambers. She had gathered extra candles to properly light the room for his arrival. She stood in their glow, awaiting him to enter.

There was a light rap on the door then it was pushed open.

Raoul could hardly contain himself when he saw Christine awash in candlelight. He immediately went to her and pulled her close. Her body no longer ached as it once had. She delightedly relaxed and allowed him to take control.

He kissed her deeply, dipping her slightly in his passion. When he came up for air, he greeted, "I missed you so much, my love. You look so beautiful."

Christine smiled. "I missed you, too," she whispered. "More than you could possibly know."

He hungrily nibbled at the curve in her neck, which caused her to erupt into a fit of giggles. She playfully struggled against him before breaking away and running out onto the balcony as a means of escape. Raoul followed, just like he was meant to. They came together again in the darkness, backed by the candlelight in the room, their lips locking.

"You wrote in your letter that you have important news," Christine urged when their embrace had ended. "Please don't keep me in anticipation any longer."

He kissed the soft part of her wrist and traveled slowly up her arm. "I've decided," he told her between pecks, "that I don't want you in this place any longer."

She gently yanked her arm free and took a step back. She didn't know where this command of his was coming from, or if he even had the right to decide such a thing for her. "It seems easy to make such a demand, Raoul, but I have nowhere else to go."

He grinned. "Yes, you do." He held her hands in his, cradling them adoringly. "I found the perfect little flat for you, Christine. It is just around the corner from me, so we will be able to see each other as often as we like."

Her head drooped. She stared down at the ground, almost ashamed. "I don't have the means of paying for such a luxury."

He chuckled, like an adult laughing at the attempts of a child. "Christine, I would be handling all of the costs. You won't have to worry about a thing. I want to take care of you. I want you out of this place and living properly. I know it is selfish, but I want you all for myself. Will you let me? Will you grant me that honor?"

She was elated. "Oh, Raoul!" she exclaimed, jumping into his arms.

Raoul carried her back inside and laid her out on the bed. In that moment, she was very grateful that the candles weren't as harsh as the natural sunlight. It would be harder for him to notice any of the bruising or scratches that remained. She didn't even want to think about his reaction should he learn of her indiscretions.

She had healed where it was necessary and was now ready for him. She held her breath when he pulled off the gown, saying a mental prayer that he wouldn't notice any imperfections on her body. It seemed to work. He studied her nude figure, as he typically did, with little shame and no disappointment.

He quickly removed the grey waistcoat that he had adorned that day, pulling the sleeves inside out when they got caught at his wrists. Then he unbuttoned the sapphire blue vest and tossed that aside with the jacket. He paused to supply Christine with some fresh kisses, at which point she helped him with the white shirt that had been tucked into the matching grey trousers.

She pulled it over his head, ruffling his golden locks. She giggled at the unkempt picture it had left. Raoul could never be described as unkempt. She began working at his trousers and underclothes. Her movements were hasty and not terribly effective. She made it seem that he couldn't undress fast enough for her appetite.

Still, it happened.

Christine liked to look at Raoul's bare form just as much as he enjoyed hers. As far as she was concerned, he was just about perfect—an Adonis in the flesh. Though his muscles weren't fully defined, they still existed. There was a patch of blonde hair on his chest that she enjoyed playing with after they had finished. And as far as that was concerned, she had never been disappointed.

It was when Raoul crawled on top of her that she first felt nervous. She tried to shake it off or to hide it. She couldn't have him learn that his wasn't the only business she had been receiving. The future would shatter before her eyes if he ever learned that. Besides, she figured she was just being foolish. After all, this was the first time since The Phantom had been in her bed that she was entertaining. It was only natural she should be a bit concerned.

Yet, the feeling only worsened as they continued.

She could feel the sharp nails digging into her back. She could smell the sweat and blood and saliva. She could hear that maniacal laughter when she had cried out in pain. She could still see those vicious, hungry eyes ever locked on her, never wavering.

Christine had to bite her lip to keep from crying out for Raoul to stop. She turned her head into the pillow to keep her tears at bay. What had once been a beautiful thing between them was now torture. She didn't want to disappoint Raoul, but the end couldn't come quick enough.

Afterward, she mindlessly played with that familiar spot on his chest, while she sought to find comfort in his embrace once again. Her mind was a tornado of thoughts. She was still trying to cope with the experience she had just had with Raoul. She was trying to understand how altered her life already was and would continue to be. Mostly, she was attempting to figure out whether or not she could still find happiness in the future with Raoul.

He didn't seem to be torn about their future at all. "Just think," he told her, caressing her bare arm, "tomorrow evening we will be laying beneath a crystal chandelier in a bed of expensive silks."

"Tomorrow?" Christine sought clarification. Though she was only partially paying attention, the immediate time frame certainly caught her ear.

"The necessary paperwork went through yesterday." He chuckled, delightedly. "I'll pick up the key in the morning and then it is yours. Do you think you can be ready by then?"

She offered as much of a smile as she could muster. "I think I can manage." She glanced around the room at the ramshackle furniture and the few items she actually possessed that occupied them. She wasn't lying when she had informed him it wouldn't take long. "After all, I don't have much to take with me."

"And anything else I can supply you with," he finished. "I'll get you brand new proper dresses. You'll have dozens of pearl necklaces and other beautiful jewelry. You'll want for nothing. I promise you that."

Raoul leaned in and kissed her passionately. She tried to find distraction in it. She tried to drown herself in his lips. But, the concerns on her mind were much too strong.

"I am afraid that I must finish preparing for tomorrow," Raoul explained. He sat up and began to gather his clothing.

"So you're leaving?" Christine asked, watching him.

"I want everything to be perfect for you, my dear."

She was touched by his consideration. "Raoul, it will be lovely. Just the fact that you are doing this for me is enough. It is beyond anything I ever dreamed of. It's like you are offering me a new life."

He closed the distance to her and gently brushed some stray hair out of her face. "I am, Christine. It will be a new, better life. It will be a life with me."

Christine embraced him gratefully. If there was one thing she was certain of it was how appreciative she was for Raoul. If she couldn't find a way to make it work with him, who was giving her everything she ever dreamed of, then she was doomed. She would find a way. She would do whatever he asked whenever he asked. She was his now.

"Be packed by the morning, my sweet," Raoul directed. He was fully dressed and had his hand on the door knob. "Life will be but a dream from here on out. I promise."

With that, he exited La Porte Rouge and took to the streets.

xXx

The shadows were his playground. They hid him from the stars peering down from up above. They made him invisible to any prying eyes. He had learned to use them to his advantage. And now, he slinked through them as gracefully as a tiger stalking its prey.

Truly, the unsuspecting victim walked casually just ahead, unaware of the vicious creature lurking just behind him. He had been waiting for the gentleman outside of the brothel, and had stalked him now up the alleyway. He found ecstasy in knowing that his prey was always unaware of the fate that awaited them. Their ignorance fueled his fire.

He knew he would have to pounce soon. He couldn't let the gentleman get too close to the main street. He never did. He took the precautions. He followed his routine always.

He sank back against one of the neighboring buildings, drowning in the shadows. The blonde man glanced behind him. He could feel the ever watchful eyes. He could sense that something didn't feel right, that he wasn't alone. And that was excruciatingly delicious.

He couldn't wait any longer. It was time for the climax.

The lasso shot out of the darkness and around the gentleman's neck, catching him off guard. It tightened and pulled him toward the grouping of shadows it had come from. The gentleman could do little else other than tug desperately at the rope cutting off his air supply. Perhaps if he hadn't been so distracted by the lasso, he would have seen the glint of the knife protruding out of the darkness and piercing his torso.

After that, he struggled much less. His life was flowing out of him in a crimson stream. His strength left him, and his consciousness was not far behind. His legs gave out from beneath him and he fell to the dirty pavement. He lay on his back, twitching, staring up at the night sky.

The final thoughts coursing through his mind were of Christine, the young, tragic woman he had met just a little too late in life. He had had such plans for her, with her. A future he would never get to live passed hopelessly before his gaze.

But, the last thing he managed to actually see was a distorted, deformed face and a pair of eyes oozing with malicious intent. The last thing he heard was a deep voice, more of a growl really. It wasn't comforting. It wasn't something that anyone would want to hear just before they died.

"She's mine," it told him matter-of-factly. Then it laughed in a most evil way.


	8. Behind the Mask

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** I want to make it clear that Christine is very torn up about Raoul's death. She tries to find the only way to cope. That doesn't mean that she never had feelings for him. Just as a note, as well, Raoul's wife, who makes an appearance in this chapter, is just a random woman. She isn't meant to be anybody in particular from the book or the musical.

**Chapter 8 – Behind the Mask**

It was him.

Of course he didn't look as he normally did. His eyes bulged from his sockets, a look of terror caught in them. They had glazed over, no longer seeing. His body, which was bloated, was sprawled across the pavement with his limbs jutting at odd angles. One hand was still clutching at a rope that had long since disappeared, leaving behind rough bruising and burns along the skin of the neck. But the actual cause of death was the stab wound located on the back of the victim.

Christine covered her mouth with the bit of shawl wrapped about her hand. Tears were streaming silently down her face, soaking the cotton. Rats had already gotten to the body, creating a disgusting picture. She couldn't tear her eyes away, though. She had to make herself believe that it was true: Raoul was dead.

She heard the desperate cries of the woman before she even came into view. The carriage had stopped at the mouth of one of the adjacent alleyways, and it hadn't taken long to travel the rest of the way to the scene of the crime.

Raoul's body had been discovered in the wee hours of the morning. A gentleman had been wandering back from a romp at La Porte Rouge when he had come across the corpse. With nowhere else to turn, and being such a good citizen, he returned to the brothel to report the crime. It wasn't long before locals were bustling about.

Christine had just learned of the find a few hours before. She hadn't moved since she had gotten to the scene. The police had already been present, examining the area and looking into the matter. The murder of a viscount was handled much differently than say a murder of someone on the other end of the spectrum. Though Christine had positively identified the body, the officers had still found it necessary to call in the gentleman's wife. The word of a whore hardly meant anything.

Two officers came into view. Between them was a petite young lady wearing a lilac and grey bonnet and already holding a white handkerchief to her face. She had barely even come upon the scene when she burst out bawling. She would have fallen to her knees, possibly even fainted, if one of the officers hadn't caught her. He held her somewhat awkwardly and gently as she attempted to cope with the fact that her husband was dead.

It seemed strange, especially to consider it in that moment, but Christine realized that she had never before seen Raoul's wife. She had tried to conceive in her loneliest of times what the woman was like, but had never actually laid eyes upon her. Watching her breakdown now, she mentally confirmed all of her imaginings.

The woman was young, but still some years older than Christine. She had lovely golden locks that would surely cascade in perfect waves down her back if they weren't pinned in place on the back of her head. Her grey and lilac colored ensemble still appeared perfectly put together and perfectly orderly despite her current meltdown. The woman was pretty, Christine noted, though somewhat plain.

Not wanting to show any sort of disrespect or to potentially cause a scene, Christine pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders and turned away. She closed her eyes softly and sucked in a deep breath, as if mustering up courage to head back to the brothel. Truthfully, she had to swallow what she had just seen and find a way to move on with her life.

She had taken but two steps when she felt a violent tug on her arm. She was forced back around and found herself face-to-face with Raoul's widow. She didn't know how to react or what to say. She couldn't even trust herself knowing the proper etiquette. Luckily, she didn't have to. His widow had enough to say for the both of them, that was certain.

"It's all your fault!" the woman screamed at her.

"Excuse me?" Christine asked, bewildered.

"Don't think I don't know who you are," she spat. She wasn't the loveliest picture with tears streaming down her face and snot running out of her nose. "You're the whore that my husband kept running off to see!"

By now several officers were upon them. One pulled at the widow, attempting to remove her claw from Christine's arm. Another was trying to get Christine to back away, which she would have done willingly anyway.

"This wouldn't have happened if he hadn't been here to see you!" she accused. "Why couldn't you have just left him alone? Why couldn't you have just let him be with his family?"

The widow had hardly gotten out the last sentence. She had become overworked with sorrow and despair that the words almost hadn't come out. She started sobbing uncontrollably. Her knees buckled and the officer eased her toward the pavement.

Christine didn't need any assistance in leaving the premises. She headed back toward La Porte Rouge, glancing over her shoulder periodically at the grieving wife of her late patron. She started to think that perhaps it really had been her fault. After all, Raoul's widow was absolutely correct. If he had been at home instead of in these alleyways visiting her, he never would have ended up on the wrong end of a blade.

Her heart was already breaking. She couldn't bear to think that she was the cause of Raoul's death. She wouldn't be able to live with herself. He had been a good, kind man. He had never raised a hand to her. He had never wronged her in any sense. She felt ashamed for having deceived his trust.

She was so lost in thoughts and emotions that she didn't hear her name being called thrice over. It was the fourth time that she finally noticed. She glanced about, confused and even rather disinterested.

"Christine, didn't you hear me?"

She spied Erik coming toward her from the doorway of La Porte Rouge. He was adorned in all black, which made him look particularly pale, apart from the mask. He was removing his top hat as he approached.

"Erik?" She wiped away the tears on her cheeks. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," he informed dismissively. "Did something happen? Are you all right?"

She shook her head, but assured, "Yes, please don't be concerned." She glanced over her shoulder, as if she could still see Raoul's corpse. "Do you mind if we head upstairs?"

"Not at all," Erik said, ushering her ahead of him.

Christine mindlessly led the way. There were very few girls loitering in the brothel, as most were still interested in the crime scene. She moved easily past them, ignoring their presence and their lingering, suspicious gazes. Everyone knew that it was Raoul out there and that she had been the last one to see him alive.

Once inside her room, she sealed the door for privacy. She seemed to move in a daze, not necessarily present or noticing what was around her. Erik, watching her carefully, moved slowly to the lounge that he had occupied the first time he had ever met her and eased down onto the cushion.

Christine went straight for the balcony doors. She kept them closed, but stood in front of them, crossing her arms, along with the shawl, in front of her, and stared outside. There was much on her mind. She hadn't been so dismayed since her father's death. Similar questions presented themselves now. One of the foremost: where did she go from here?

"Christine," Erik said quietly, attempting to rouse her from herself. He didn't want to disturb her, though. He just wanted her to let him in.

"He's dead," she whispered after a pause.

"Who is dead?"

"Raoul—the man I had told you about. My patron," she explained, "is dead."

Erik hesitated. "I-I'm sorry."

"He was supposed to take me away from this place," she continued as if he hadn't said anything, as if he wasn't even there. "I was going to leave today. I was actually going to get away." She shook her head. "Not anymore."

Christine turned around slowly. She patted out the skirt on the dress that Raoul had bestowed upon her. She had initially adorned it as a start to her new life. Now, it seemed like a pathetic tribute to a fond memory. In one way or another, she felt close to him while wearing it.

"It seems that she is absolutely correct," Christine stated.

"Who is?"

"Madame Giry." She lifted her chin, bringing her eyes upward. Fresh tears streamed becomingly down her pale cheeks. "I am stupid. I am so stupid. There will never be anything more than this. The only way out is death."

Erik stood, disturbed. The only thing he could think to do was to go to her. The only thing he wanted to do was to go to her. He placed his hands comfortingly on her arms and stared deeply into her sorrowful eyes. He felt he could drown. He felt that she could be the one to either save him or bring about his demise. Perhaps both.

"Don't say that," he commanded gently. He wiped one tear away at a time with the swipe of his thumb. "You are so much more than this place. You are a shining star in the darkest night—a single light amidst a blackened sea."

He searched her gaze, hoping to see some sort of understanding or relief. He hadn't come here for this, but he felt himself falling. He was losing control.

"Can't you see that you are everything? You are an angel, Christine." He pulled her in ever closer. "You are my angel."

Erik's lips fell upon hers hungrily. It was like he was trying to take away the sadness, and the only way to do so was through passion. He was being driven by some hidden force. He couldn't even stop if he had wanted to at that point.

And she was kissing him right back.

The shawl fell away from her body as she wrapped her arms around him. She pressed herself close to him, as if attempting to merge into one being. He responded very similarly, hugging her and caressing her body.

Christine gasped when he ripped apart the emerald dress to get at her bare skin. Every inch of her tingled wherever he placed his lips. She was so involved in the moment that she hardly noticed that her dress had been ruined or could hardly recall that her former lover lay cold and dead little more than a block away. But that was the point, wasn't it? She yearned to be lost to reality; and, this was the only means of escape.

She allowed Erik to sweep her up and throw her onto the bed. She didn't question when an animalistic side of him seemed to take over. She wasn't concerned when familiar nails scratched at her skin. She had yearned for this moment, possibly since she had first sang for him. She was willing to give her entire self to him.

And she did.

xXx

Christine stared over at Erik's slumbering form, humming lightly to herself. He was tangled up in the sheets of her bed with nothing on other than his mask. She still didn't know how it had stayed on throughout their carnal act. That white mask had captivated her from the first moment she had laid eyes upon it. It intrigued her. It frightened her.

What lay behind it? What was he hiding?

She stood, allowing the cheap robe to close in her bare legs. She pattered over to where her dress lay in shreds upon her bedroom floor. She picked it up delicately and examined it. With just one look she could tell there was no repairing the gift. It was ruined. It was gone just like he was.

She let it drift back to the floor, where it came to a rest. She closed the distance to the balcony doors and stepped outside. She let the chill fall over her, sobering her and waking her from her passionate dream. She looked one way down the street. It was the direction Raoul was in.

Christine felt the slightest pang of guilt. His body was barely cold and already she had another man in her bed. The reality came surging back. She had merely postponed it. She hadn't been left in any better of a situation. In fact, when Raoul had died, her hope had died with him.

Her visions for the future were no longer seeable, let alone obtainable. It was completely blurred, hazy. She didn't know what tomorrow would hold for her. She didn't even know if there would be a tomorrow. In her lifestyle, anything could happen. She couldn't fault Raoul for leaving her so abruptly. He would have obviously preferred not to have been murdered.

He would always be a future that never came into existence. She would always wonder what her life might have been if he hadn't died. She softly brought her fingers against her chest, over her heart. She gave Raoul a mental farewell. He would always have a place, whether she wanted him to or not, but she couldn't continue to dwell.

Christine turned back inside, closing the balcony doors behind her. Her gaze traveled across the floor, to the mattress, and over Erik's face. His features held an agitated expression, as if his dreams were particularly rough. She stared at the only expressionless part of his face: the mask. She found she was still compelled by curiosity.

Extra quietly, she stepped to the bedside. She wasn't looking to disturb him. She wasn't quite sure what she was looking for in fact. Perhaps some clarity. Perhaps some answers. Whatever it was, it led her to lightly sit on the edge of the mattress. She paused momentarily, as if really considering what she was about to do. But there wasn't a single question going through her mind.

Holding her breath, she leaned over, allowing her hand to linger just above Erik's face. This was the moment of truth. Her hand fell, grasping at the white mask.

Very nearly at the same moment a strong hand seized her wrist. But, it was too late. Her fingers held the mask above the face that always adorned it. Caught, she gasped and fumbled with it. Her curiosity had been pushed out by intense fear and panic. She wanted nothing more than to get away.

Those devilish eyes stared back at her now. That malicious intent was back with a vengeance. The deformed face was impossible to mistake. In every sense, she was staring at Erik. But it wasn't him. It couldn't be him.

She hardly recognized the man in her bed. It was Erik's body, Erik's eyes, but it wasn't him. Yet, she wasn't a stranger to the creature before her. She had come into contact with him before, in an experience she would never forget. And now he was back in a way she couldn't comprehend.

He clucked his tongue. "You've just made a very, very big mistake, my dear," the deep voice growled with a sick sniggering.


	9. Dangerous Game

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note:** So I can foresee the ending of the story. I believe there will be about three or four more chapters. I don't expect more than four, but I can be pleasantly surprised. I am attempting to move things along. The beginning of the next chapter will indicate that a certain amount of time will have passed, which I will decide in the process of writing it. Mainly what is important is to know that The Phantom is getting stronger, much stronger, and Erik can't necessarily control it anymore.

**Chapter 9 – Dangerous Game**

"I-I don't understand." Christine tossed her head, backing up until she could go no farther. The bedroom wall stopped her process. "Has this all been some kind of sick ploy? Have you been pretending with me all along?"

"I am afraid it is a little more complicated than that, my dear," her guest grumbled excitedly. It was much more of a guttural sound than an actual voice.

"Then what is this, Erik?"

It was that deep, malicious laugh again—the one that caused a shiver down her spine and her skin to crawl. It always made it seem that he knew something that she did not and that she would never understand. Despite having personal experience in what this creature was capable of, she bit her lower lip in protest.

"Erik's not here anymore, pet."

She believed him, even though a physical entity bearing Erik's resemblance was standing directly before her. She had to be patient, though the situation certainly didn't call for it. She was at a loss. She was the one confused and lost. She was the one without any comprehension of what was occurring.

She took a deep breath, attempting to maintain her composure. "Then who am I talking to?"

"I thought I had made damn sure that you would never forget me," he drawled. He moved in, like a carnivore stalking its prey. There was a large, rather intimidating grin on his face. "Well, this time there will be no question about it. I'll make absolutely certain of it."

Christine cringed away. She would have backed up farther if she could, but it was impossible. The facial deformity couldn't be mistaken. She had known exactly who she was dealing with the moment the distortion had been brought to light. Regardless of the name he went by, it was the man who had done little more than rape her.

"T-The Phantom," she breathed.

He was in her face. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. She could smell it.

"So you do remember," he hissed, appearing quite proud of the impression he had left. "No worries. I'll still keep my promise of tonight."

He abruptly began savagely kissing her neck, pinning her back against the wall. She tried to squirm beneath him, but he was much too strong for her. Not to mention, she knew what he was capable of, and it still scared the hell out of her.

She reached for anything to postpone his hunger. "This is all so confusing," she mustered. "How is this possible?"

He stopped gnawing on her neck long enough to answer. "I am him. He is me. We are one, my dear."

"I don't believe that," she insisted. She held out a hand, as if to prevent him from attacking her again. Honestly, though, nothing would be able to stop him.

The Phantom took a step backward, intrigued. He held his arms out. "Do you not believe your own eyes?"

She gritted her teeth, ready for a confrontation. "You may share the same appearance, even the same body if that is at all possible, but you are not him. Trust me."

He approached her, getting in her face again. His shadow poured over her, enveloping her in darkness. "That is the kindest thing you've said to me," he growled with a sickening smirk. His fingers twirled around one of her curls.

"I still don't understand, though," Christine told, shaking her head and ignoring his comment. "Who is the real you? Are you Erik? Or are you…?"

He let out an exasperated sigh, as if he was impatient of her lack of comprehension. "I am the real me. I suppose Erik could be the real him. But, in a sense, one could claim that he is my father. It was through him that I awoke. He wanted to seek the truth so badly. He wanted to learn the inherent workings of good and evil. Thusly, I was born."

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "You're saying that it was through his own curiosity that he one way or another brought about your existence?"

"No, my pet," he cooed. "I always existed deep within him. I was merely overshadowed. But, he gave me strength enough to overcome all of that."

Tears were forming in her eyes. She just couldn't believe that Erik, who had been a friend to her when nobody else would, was capable of essentially creating a monster. Or, that he potentially was a monster. She felt used. She felt stupid. Mostly, she felt betrayed and hurt.

She swallowed back the pain in her voice, attempting to keep her emotions subdued until she got at least one more answer. "I have one last question for you then," she said, holding her head high.

The Phantom ran the back of his hand along her cheek. "Anything for you, my sweet."

"Which of you was it that killed Raoul?"

She was quite proud of herself. Her voice had hardly trembled. Though she had her suspicions, she still needed to know for certain. She still wasn't completely convinced on this alternate persona in front of her. She still didn't know how this monster and Erik could share the same physical body. But, she was willing to continue in hopes of learning the truth.

The Phantom chuckled darkly. "You'd like to say it was me, wouldn't you? You wouldn't be able to live with yourself if it was your precious Erik." His grin completely faded. He looked odd without a sinister expression on his face. "Do you think he is capable of murder?"

She hesitated, actually weighing the questions and her possible responses. "I-I don't know." Her answer frightened her.

"And you'd like me to reassure you…"

She didn't say anything. She didn't have to. Her trembling lower lip spoke for her.

The Phantom chuckled heartily. "Perhaps I will leave you in anticipation. I do so like to see you squirm, my dear."

"This isn't a game!" she insisted.

He was beginning to get riled up, and that would certainly not turn out to be a good thing. "Of course it is! It is all a game! And with me, you best believe that it is a dangerous game at that."

His hand shot out toward her neck. His fingers wrapped around her throat, but did not tighten. He held her stiffly, securely, but did not hurt her. Her heart began to race with dread. He left her guessing. She could never tell what he would do next. He could very well snap her neck in the next instant. She believed him capable of it—of anything really.

He leaned in close to her ear, as if he had a big secret to tell her. She could hear him breathing. It was heavy and deep, much different from what she knew of Erik's breathing. She swallowed back her panic. His fingers still lingered on her throat, though, and his thumb rubbed at her skin as if it were getting impatient.

"You should know that I killed your Viscount," he spat excitedly. He spoke of the act as if he were talking of some delicious sweet he had tasted the night before. "And I enjoyed every moment of it."

A tear broke free and rolled down her cheek. She couldn't find her voice. Or, at least not its strength. "W-Why?" she croaked.

"Do you think I wouldn't know?" His fingers began to close in around her throat. "Do you think you could just make plans to leave without me finding out? Do you even think I would have let you?"

Her eyes shifted in his direction, though she couldn't fully see him. "You heard? How is that possible?"

"You underestimate me, my love," he hissed. "You should be more careful about what you say out on your balcony there. You never know who might overhear."

She gasped.

At the same moment, he yanked her away from the wall with just his grasp around her throat. Her fingers tore at his grip as he jerked her toward the mattress. The passion and hunger in his eyes was the greatest she had seen yet, and that made it the most dangerous. She couldn't tear her gaze away from them as they bore into her soul.

"You can never escape from me, Christine," he threatened. "I will hunt you down if that is what it takes."

Though his grip had tightened, she was still able to breath out a reply. She had to suck in air beforehand. Then it came out more as some words carried by a wind rather than her actual voice.

"Why?" Tears rolled down her cheeks. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Do you really not know?" His grin was malicious, delighted. He was truly savoring the moment. "Erik is infatuated with you, my sweet. It is through you that I can make his life a living hell. I do apologize about that."

More tears fell.

"But, he won't be around for much longer, I promise you that," The Phantom informed. "And once I have fully taken over, there will nothing that will keep us apart."


	10. Confession

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters

**Title: Infection**

**Summary: **An evil has invaded Paris, and it seems that Christine has caught its attention. What lengths will Erik go to in order to save the world—to save the woman he loves?

**Author's Note: **So, here is another time when there has been a small passage of time. I would like to think no more than a month, I suppose. Christine has been in the clutches of The Phantom, who has been dominant most days. Erik is, in fact, losing the battle. I wanted to pay tribute to the song "First Transformation." I particularly enjoy that Dr. Jekyll seems to be making a journal entry, so I wanted to mimic that a little bit, but have it more as Erik's final "confession" of sorts.

**Chapter 10 – Confession **

_Perhaps I should have been keeping track of my progress all along. Perhaps then this single, lone entry would make sense. But I must inform the world of this madness which has taken hold of me before it is too late. I must warn them should it ever wreak havoc again. Think of this as a preventative measure. Think of this as a confession of my sins._

_I must start at the beginning, I should think. At least that way my reasoning will be clear and, hopefully, understandable. Do not think of it as an excuse, as there is no longer any excuse for what has become of me. I do not expect sympathy, either. These are merely facts of life that drove me to pursue a truth that should have never been sought in the first place._

_I was thought to be evil since the first day I was brought into this cruel world. It wasn't due to anything I'd done, but merely the physical deformity I had been born with. People are quick to hate what they do not understand or deem "normal." Needless to say, acceptance and kindness were two foreign concepts to me. Yet, my treatment growing up was the catalyst of my curiosity._

_Perhaps because I was an outcast in society, it was easier for me to notice the corruption running rampant. I began to really wonder what makes a human being evil and what makes him good. Was the source really from physical distortion? Or was it distortion in the soul? Could I rightly prove that I was not evil as everyone immediately believed me to be? _

_The want for knowledge took me all around the world to the most mystical of places. I studied texts that hadn't seen the light of day in centuries. I talked to people who did not exist within the public, but lived in whispers and at the edge of one's vision. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the truth, yet farther from any sort of physical proof._

_That is until I met him._

_My research finally led me to Persia. I was given the name of a man who would change my life forever. The trouble was locating him, for nobody seemed to want to even speak of him, let alone assist me in his whereabouts. _

_The elusive Persian's name: Nadir._

_It was an evening not out of the ordinary when the very man I had been looking for sought me out. He showed me to the place he called home, which was little more than shaped rocks on the outside. Inside, it was a palace. We discussed my curiosities and questions until the early hours of the morning. I imparted everything to him. I truly believed that he was my last hope for finding answers._

_Let it be known that he tried to deter me every step along the way. He warned me that all I would find would be disaster and death. He was so correct. _

_In my stubbornness, I ignored his caution. I thought myself indestructible. Can anyone blame me? So I pushed myself to what I thought would be the end of it, like a hound on the final trail of a delicious scent. It was difficult to know at the time that it was actually the scent of death that lured me._

_I found my way back to Nadir when the process began—when there was no turning back. My soul began splitting into two and I couldn't stop it. All I remember was searing pain, unbearable pain. I couldn't escape from it. It wouldn't abate. The Persian gave me some sort of serum that seemed to keep the beast at bay for a time. I awoke several hours later feeling exhausted, but better. I still had control of myself and my decisions._

_That was when I learned of my fate._

_I had toyed too much in the realms of good and evil. I had gone too far. In the hopes of discovering the true nature of evil, I had created it within myself. Well, perhaps created is not the right word to use. I had awoken it within myself with my obsession. I see now that everybody possesses both within their soul, but one is always more prominent than the other._

_I wondered what would become of me. I asked Nadir and his answer was quite solemn. There was no hope, he expressed. The other cases he had seen had ended in death. So, death awaited me as well. I had decided that I would not accept this outcome, at least not without a fight. _

_I left before sunrise on the following day. I had to by Nadir's threat. He wouldn't allow me to stay because he knew the danger that I now presented. I searched the world again for some kind of solution this time. But this time my efforts yielded no results._

_So I settled in Paris to live out my remaining time. _

_All the while, The Phantom, as he prefers to call himself, grew stronger._

_Nothing seemed to help. Not even the medication that Nadir had given me to suppress the evil. As it grew stronger and stronger, that serum grew weaker and weaker. There was no way to stop it. _

_There have been so many victims over the years—possibly more than even I know of. If it is not already apparent, I am not conscious when The Phantom takes over my body. I am not aware of what he is doing when he is doing it. Therefore, I cannot stop him._

_To protect those around me, I have attempted to distance myself. However, one young woman has seemed to slip past my defenses. I have begun to care for this woman, much to my dismay and her safety. For, he already knows of my affection, and he seeks to use it against me. For one reason or another, he is most interested in seeing my misfortune and unhappiness most of all._

_He has found the perfect way to succeed in this effort. He has now targeted this young woman. There is nothing that makes her different from the rest of her gender. There is nothing that sets her aside. Her name is Christine and she is merely a lady at La Rouge Porte._

_I must protect her at all costs. I suppose there is really only one way to guarantee her safety. There is only one sure out for me: death. I must admit, however, that it is not preferable. Despite everything he has done and everything he is capable of, I do not wish to make the ultimate sacrifice to stop him._

_I fear what awaits me on the other side. I am afraid of being judged for sins that are not consciously mine. These are my hands, yes, but his deeds are why they are covered in blood. Can we still be called one? Can we still be considered the same person? If he is willing to do what I would never dream of then can we still be of one mind?_

_It is becoming too late. He is getting stronger and I am getting weaker. I know I must stop him before he is fully released upon the world. I wanted to make my story known. I hope that perhaps some understanding can be reached in case I fail. Already he fights me. He knows my plans. _

_I created the monster and only I can defeat him. _

xXx

The apartment was a complete mess. Furniture was tipped over, carpeting was torn up, fingernail scratches tore through the wallpaper. It appeared as if a wild animal had been let loose within the confines of the flat.

Amongst it all, The Phantom stood breathing heavily, his chest heaving with each gasp for air. He had been fully aware as Erik had attempted to write out his final confession. It had angered him. He knew everything that was going through Erik's mind, including the plans for his demise. He wouldn't allow that to happen.

Having gotten much of his anger and frustration out, he stared about at his accomplishment. He smirked, knowing that Erik would have a fit when he saw what had become of his precious home. It really did thrill him to know that he was winning out over his weaker half. Soon there would be no more Erik. There would only be The Phantom.

He went directly to a pile near the door where he had tossed some of the outer cloaks. He shoved his arms into one, turning the collar up to protect his neck and to further disguise his face. He wasn't sporting the usual white mask that Erik insisted upon. He didn't understand the point of hiding behind such a thing.

Having gorged himself on violence during his frenzy, he now sought another pleasure that he knew one woman in particular could provide. The only reason he continued to frequent Christine was because Erik favored her and it destroyed him every time he learned that she was being used by his alter ego.

In all honesty, Erik should be thanking him. He had, after all, prevented her from disappearing from their lives altogether. Granted, she couldn't have stayed hidden for long. The Phantom would have found her one way or another. He always had his ways. But, Erik saw him as a demon that needed to be exorcised, a black spot that needed to be erased from the earth.

So, he had decided, let him be the evil that he had already been condemned as.

Erik was the good. The Phantom was the evil. If that was how Erik wanted the world to see it then who was he to stand in the way? He had given Erik what he had wanted, so why the backlash? He had allowed Erik to feign ignorance and to remain innocent, while still taking care of the dirty business that had to ultimately be done.

And now Erik expected him to just step aside and vanish within him once more?

The Phantom chuckled to himself at the thought. That just wasn't going to happen.

He had tasted freedom and he wasn't going to be caged again so easily. Erik was welcome to try, but he would fail. The Phantom would see to it. Erik would be the one to fade into the background. Erik would no longer be the dominant one.

Soon, very soon it would be The Phantom's turn to shine.


End file.
